LiitKARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


\ 


» 


/ 


Print  bT   fl.  Andre 


AMY  LEE; 


OR-, 


WITHOUT   AND    WITHIN. 


"SWEET  ARE  THE  USES  OF  ADVERSITY:' 

SHAKSPKARB. 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  "OUR  PARISH." 

j.i.  £ 


BOSTON: 
HIGGINS   &    BRADLEY, 

20  Washington  St. 

1856. 

LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress  in  the  year  1855,  by 

BROWN,  BAZIN,  AND  COMPANY, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  0'*  Massachusetts. 


STEREOTYPED  AT  THE 
BOSTON  STEREOTYPE  I  0 U N » K T . 


CONTENTS. 


Page. 
CHAPTER  I. 

A  WRECK  OF  A  MAN, 7  T 


CHAPTER  H. 
THE  BESETTING  SIN,       -       - -       -     17 

CHAPTER  in. 

THE  END  OF  IT, 27 

CHAPTER   IV. 
ABOUT  THE  FUTURE, 88 


CHAPTER  V. 
A  JOURNEY  ALONE, 


CHAPTER  VI. 
MRS.  GUMMEL, 64 

CHAPTER  VIE. 

A  LOOK  AT  THE  VILLAGE, 75 

CHAPTER  Vin. 
HUNTING  UP  PUPILS, 87 

CHAPTER  IX. 
THE  FIRST  SUNDAY, 100 


IV  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  X. 
OPENING  SCHOOL,    - -    112 

CHAPTER  XI. 
LEAVES  FROM  A  JOURNAL, .        «       -    124 

CHAPTER  XH. 

SATURDAY  AFTERNOON,         ....  133 


CHAPTER  XTTT. 
DOLLY  TATTERAGS, 142 

CHAPTER  XTV. 

THE  TATTERAG  FAMILY, -       -       -       -155 

'CHAPTER  XV. 

OLIVE  ADAMS, 169 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
IVY  LODGE, 178 

CHAPTER  XVH. 
LEAVES  FROM  A  JOURNAL, 189 


CHAPTER  XVIH. 
PROGRESS,-       .      -       -1  V.^. 197 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

DOLLY  IN  A  NEW  PLACE, 205 

CHAPTER  XX. 
THE  SCHOOL  EXAMINATION, 219 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

DEATH  AT  THE  DOOR, .    224 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

AMY  AT  THE  PARSONAGE,    •  ' 


CONTENTS.  V 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
THE  SNOW  STORM, 246 

CHAPTER  XXIY. 
A  NEW  COMEB, 264 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
QUITE  A  SURPRISE, 276 

CHAPTER  XXYL 
MRS.  BUCCLEBEE'S  INFLUENCE, 287 

CHAPTER  XXYH. 
THE  PITCHER  AT  THE  FOUNTAIN, 299 


CHAPTER  XXYin. 
BACK  TO  BOSTON, 814 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 
A  PICTURE  OF  TROUBLE, 823 


CHAPTER  XXX. 
DESPAIR, 


CHAPTER  XXXTT 
CARRYING  A  MATTER  HOME, 347 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 
ONCE  AGAIN, 357 

CHAPTER  XXXm. 
RECONCILIATION  AND  PEACE. 366 


CHAPTER  XXXIY. 

AND  THE  LAST, -       .       -       .       .       .       -373 

1* 


AMY    LEE. 


CHAPTER    I. 
A  WRECK  OF  A  MAN. 

THE  fire  shone  in  the  shovel,  the  tongs,  and  the  poker, 
Bending  its  pleasant  glow  over  the  room.  Though  the 
carpet  was  somewhat  faded  and  worn,  its  figures  bright 
ened  a  good  deal  in  the  light,  and  made  the  little  apart 
ment  look  unusually  cheerful. 

A  small  table  was  drawn  out  into  the  middle  of  the. 
floor,  and  spread  with  a  white  napkin.  Before  the  bright 
coal  fire  that  burned  in  the  grate  stood  a  large  easy  chair, 
stuffed,  and  covered  with  a  dull  chintz,  within  whose 
broad  arms  half  reclined  the  wasted  and  weary  figure  of  a 
man.  Now  he  lifted  his  hands  from  the  sides  of  his 
chair,  and  employed  them  as  screens  for  his  eyes ;  now  he 
let  them  fall  again  into  their  old  places,  and  dropped  back 
his  head  exhaustingly,  as  if  there  were  no  more  strength 
left  in  him. 

m 


8  AMY     LEE. 

"  Amy,"  said  he,  in  a  tone  of  querulousness  that 
seemed  his  habit,  "  when  are  we  going  to  have  supper  ? 
It's  always  so  late,  when  I  want  it  early." 

"  Why,  it's  not  yet  quite  six  o'clock,  father,"  answered 
a  very  sweet  voice  from  another  part  of  the  room.  "  We 
always  have  it  sent  in  at  six,  you  know.  Are  you  hun 
gry  to-night,  father  ?  " 

"No  ;  hut  I  want  my  supper." 

"  O,  well,  I  guess  it  will  he  along  very  soon  now. 
They're  generally  pretty  punctual  with  our  meals,  I  think. 
Sometimes,  you  know,  they  have  more  to  do.  I  would 
try  and  be  as  patient  as  I  could,  father." 

And  the  daughter  began  a  gentle  bustle  about  the 
room,  thinking  that  thus  he  might  feel  that  something 
was  being  done  to  hasten  the  preparations  for  his  evening 
meal.  She  moved  the  chairs,  replaced  the  little  stand, 
dusted  the  table  under  the  glass,  went  round  picking  up 
threads  and  frayed  ends  of  cloth  from  the  carpet,  stirred 
the  fire  with  the  poker,  set  a  chair  for  herself  near  the 
little  stand  opposite  that  of  her  father,  and  finally  brushed 
out  the  imaginary  wrinkles  from  her  apron,  and  smoothed 
down  her  abundant  hair  with  the  palms  of  both  hands. 
All  the  time  her  father  kept  whining  and  groaning ; 
and  when  at  last  she  stood  before  him  with  her  hands 
on  her  head,  her  face  expressive  of  such  unbounded 
gratefulness  and  pleasure,  his  eyes  studied  her  features 
with  a  look  that  should  have  betrayed  the  most  searching 
self-condemnation. 


A.   WlcECK    OF   A   MAN.  9 

It  was  near  the  end  of  winter,  a  very  rough  and  trying 
one  to  poor  people  every  where,  and  unpleasantly  long 
and,  tedious  even  to  those  whose  circumstances  had  heaped 
all  comforts  and  luxuries  around  them.  Fuel  had  been 
scarce,  and  provisions  very  high,  and  every  thing  else  went 
up  in  price  correspondingly.  Many  a  blue  lip  had  begged 
along  the  streets  during  the  last  three  months  for  help, 
and  many  a  poverty-stricken  family  had  wondered  day 
after  day  where  the  next  meal  was  to  come  from,  when 
the  one  at  which  they  sat  should  be  over. 

In  a  retired  part  of  Boston,  where  a  short  and  narrow 
street  branched  off  from  a  much  more  populous  and  busy 
one,  was  the  respectable  boarding  house  kept  by  Mrs. 
Dozy.  Not  often  were  carriages  to  be  seen  passing 
through  this  street,  for  it  was  much  out  of  the  way  of  the 
railroad  stations,  and  nothing  was  to  be  gained  by  so  cir 
cuitous  a  route  of  travel.  Occasionally  drays  and  heavy 
carts,  with  a  file  of  stalwart  horses  drawing  them,  would 
rattle  through,  filling  the  place  with  sharp  echoes  of 
wheels,  and  hoofs,  and  noisy  shouts ;  but  as  a  general 
thing  it  was  an  uncommonly  quiet  street,  given  up  to  the 
use  and  enjoyment  of  nervous  old  ladies  and  profoundly 
contemplative  old  gentlemen.  There  was  a  small  drug 
gist's  shop  on  the  corner,  and  half  way  down  hung  out 
the  sign  of  a  modest  shoemaker.  A  great  many  men  passed 
through,  in  the  course  of  the  day,  with  little  tin  pails 
swinging  in  their  hands,  the  bright  and  unmistakable 
proofs  of  industrious  day  laborers. 


10  AMY    LEE. 

Amy  Lee  had  been  home  herself  but  a  little  while,  and 
in  that  time  she  had  done  much  to -calm  the  shattered 
nervous  system  of  her  poor  father.  The  moment  she  had 
thrown  off  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  she  was  at  his  side,  in 
quiring  after  his  wants  and  his  happiness.  And  even 
while  she  stooped  down  to  take  out  the  numbness  from 
her  fingers  in  the  blaze,  he  began  his  usual  whining  com 
plaints,  and  she  her  customary  offices  of  patience  and  love. 

"  O,  well,  father,"  said  she,  after  hearing  him  a  moment, 
"I'm  sure  I  wouldn't  mind  it.  You'll  soon  get  over 
these  bad  feelings,  you  know,  and  then  you  will  laugh  to 
think  what  little  things  troubled  you  so.  Come,  cheer  up, 
father.  The  winter's  most  over,  you  know,  and  it  will 
soon  be  spring,  and  then  we  are  going  out  a  little^  in  ths 
country,  on  the  warm  days.  Won't  that  be  grand?" 
And  she  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  suffered  a  smile  to 
break  over  her  face  that  should  have  melted  the  heart  of 
a  cynic. 

"I  don't  know,"  groaned  her  parent.  "I'm  sure  1 
don't  know.  Why,  Amy,  what  are  we  coming  to  ?  / 
can't  understand.  You  can't  go  on  in  this  way,  and  work 
all  the  time,  year  in  and  year  out." 

"  Why  not,  I  want  to  know  ?  I  have  done  it,  and  I 
can  keep  on  doing  it.  What  is  easier  than  that  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  we  ought  to  —  ought  to  have  some  thing  to 
depend  upon.  Only  your  hands,  —  how  little  that  is ! 
We  ought  to  have  something  in  the  bank ;  —  and  how 
shall  we  find  it  there  ?  —  or  when  ? " 


A   WRECK    OP   A    MAN.  11 

"You  don't  look  at  the  bright  side,  father.  What 
have  we  to  do  with  the  bank  ?  I  can  teach  my  few 
scholars  in  their  music  lessons,  and  that  is  quite  enough 
to  support  us  here.  What  more  do  we  either  of  us  need 
than  a  living  ?  You  borrow  fears,  I  am  afraid,  father. 
You  shouldn't  do  that.  Here  I  am  right  by  your  side, 
and  here  I  will  stay  as  long  as  you  live.  While  I  can 
earn  any  thing,  you  shall  be  cared  for.  And  when  I 
can't "  She  stopped  without  meaning  to. 

"  What  then  ?  When  you  can't  !  When  you  can't !  " 
eagerly  broke  in  her  dejected  parent,  hastening  to  catch 
up  this  unhappy  possibility. 

"  We  can  still  trust  in  God,"  calmly  answered  Amy, 
"  even  as  we  do  now." 

"Ah,  but  —  ah,  but  —  but  it's  not  such  a  pleasant 
thing  to  be  a  beggar,  now.  If  I  could  only  work  myself, 
Amy.  But  I  can't ;  no,  I  can't.  I  really  don't  believe 
I  ever  shall  again.  O,  O,  0 ! "  and  with  these  words 
he  threw  back  his  head  in  the  great  chair,  let  fall  his  thin 
and  almost  fleshless  hands,  and  the  tears  followed  each 
other  down  his  cheeks  as  fast  as  if  they  ran  from  the  eyes 
of  a  very  child.  It  was  amazing  to  behold  the  mastery 
that  disease  had  acquired  over  him.  He  had  no  strength, 
no  hope,  no  energy.  He  looked  up  to  that  single  girl 
with  as  much  trust  as  to  a  power,  that  he  already  confessed 
vastly  his  superior.  In  her  white  hands  lay  his  very 
means  of  existence,  and  on.  her  happy  face  slept  the  pic 
tures  in  which  he  found  all  his  daily  enjoyment. 


12  AMY   LEE. 

The  moment  she  saw  to  what  a  state  of  prostration  his 
nervous  system  was  reduced,  she  drew  up  a  little  stool  to 
his  side,  and  taking  his  hand  in  her  own,  began  the  task 
of  quieting  him.  She  appealed  to  every  feeling  of  his 
heart  to  bring  him  out  of  this  situation ;  assuring  him 
that  there  was  no  need  whatever  that  he  should  go  to 
work  again,  for  her  own  receipts  were  amply  sufficient  to 
take  care  of  them  both.  And  she  bade  him  try  and  com 
pose  himself,  begging  him  not  to  give  up  so  readily  to 
these  changeable  moods,  but  to  resist  them  with  all  bravery 
till  he  should  succeed  in  conquering  them  forever. 

A  tender  sight  it  was  to  see  this  young  girl,  thus  sup 
porting  and  steadying  her  father. .  She  had  strength  enough 
and  courage  enough,  to  endure  the  trials  that  might  be  put 
upon  both.  Frail  as  she  was  at  best,  she  -could  neverthe 
less  bear  up  stoutly  under  trouble.  Because  she  did  not 
rely  on  herself.  She  knew  well  that  she  was  on  all  sides 
surrounded  with  a  Power,  faithful  trust  in  whom  was 
never  betrayed.  And  though  afflictions  might  multiply 
upon  her  a  hundred  fold,  still  her  trust  would  never  be 
shaken ;  and  with  her  heart  thus  disposed,  for  her  there 
was  no  such  thing  as  affliction,  or  perplexity,  or  fear,  or 
despair.  It  is  a  blessed  condition,  indeed,  into  which  any 
humble  and  simple  soul  may  enter. 

Amy's  father  had  fceen  in  his  day  a  very  respectable 
member  of  the  legal  profession.  His  business  was  exten 
sive,  and  he  seemed  to  prosper.  While  Amy  was  not 
more  than  three  years  old  he  hid  lost  his  wife,  who  left 


A   WKECK    OF    A    MAN.  13 

only  this  dear  child  to  him  in  remembrance  of  their  brief 
but  happy  union.  He  never  married  again,  but  seemed 
from  that  time  to  centre  all  his  affections  on  little  Amy. 

She  grew  up  in  the  enjoyment  of  excellent  advantages, 
entering  at  the  best  schools,  and  going  through  their 
several  courses  with  marked  credit.  He  gave  her  oppor 
tunities  to  perfect  herself  in  music ;  and  now,  when  she 
had  reached  her  nineteenth  year,  —  for  our  story  finds  her 
just  entering  upon  it,  —  it  happened  that  this  musical 
skill  of  hers  was  exactly  the  thing  that  was  to  provide 
subsistence  for  both  of  them. 

A  wretched  habit,  that  he  seemed  totally  unable  either 
to  control  or  break  away  from,  had  brought  her  father  to 
his  present  lamentable  condition ;  and  now  that  he  was 
no  longer  permitted  to  gratify  his  appetite  as  regularly  as 
before,  and  only  at  such  times  as  he  could  furtively  appro 
priate,  he  had  sunk  down  like  a  dying  flame  into  a  state 
almost  of  bodily  and  intellectual  paralysis,  and  given 
himself  up  to  perpetual  fretfulness  and  dejection.  It  was 
certainly  a  great  care  for  any  one  to  watch  all  his  chang 
ing  moods  and  minister  faithfully  to  his  many  frivolous 
wants ;  lout  he  was  blessed  with  a  child  who  stood  ever 
ready  to  perform  both  these  duties,  and  esteemed  it  an 
inestimable  privilege,  too,  to  be  the  means  of  providing  a 
livelihood  for  them  both.  It  was  an  example  of  a  pure 
devotion. 

Amy's  father  was  a  confirmed  opium  eater.  Little  by 
little  the  habit  had  stolen  over  him,  sullying  one  bright 
2 


14  AMY    LEE. 


lole  was 


point  of  his  character  after  another,  till  the  wh( 
blackened  with  the  most  lamentable  darkness.  While 
the  powerful  drug  was  kept  from  him,  he  showed  signs 
of  returning  vigor,  but  they  were  generally  not  much 
more  than  signs.  His  mental  energies  had  been  gradu 
ally  undermined,  till  now  there  was  nothing  left  for  them 
to  lean  upon,  and  they  too  fell  with  the  rest  of  his  quali 
ties,  making  a  wide  and  complete  ruin. 

Whenever  he  could  manage,  however,  to  get  a  taste  of 
the  destroying  drug,  for  the  time  it  brightened  up  his 
faculties,  and  shed  a  fitful  and  artificial  light  over  his 
usual  gloom.  This  was  the  more  lamentable  to  witness, 
inasmuch  as  it  brought  out  in  brighter  relief  the  wasted 
spots  of  his  cankered  nature,  and  invariably  suggested  the 
profounder  darkness  and  gloom  that  would  follow  the 
indulgence  very  speedily  after. 

At  this  time,  he  had  been  without  any  stimulus  of  this 
character  for  several  weeks.  The  weather  had  been 
severely  cold,  and  forbade  his  going  out  of  his  room ; 
and  sitting  there  in  his  chair  gazing  into  the  fire,  and 
brooding  gloomily  over  the  glowing  coals,  he  had  by  slow 
degrees  grown  to  be  so  very  weak  and  childish,  that  he 
needed  in  truth  more  atfention  than  ever.  Amy  saw  that 
his  strength  was  gradually  failing  him,  and  had  seriously 
asked  herself  if  it  were  not  best  to  consult  a  physician. 
Still  there  was  nothing  alarming  in  any  of  his  symptoms, 
or  apparent  reason  for  more  fear  than  was  customary. 

She  sat  by  his  side,  holding  his  wasted  hand,  and  try 
ing  gently  to  soothe  him. 


A   WRECK    OF    A   MAN.  15 

"  If  I  had  any  strength,  Amy,"  said  he,  looking  va 
cantly  about  the  room. 

"  What  would  you  do  then,  father  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  You  shouldn't  work  so." 

"  Ah,  but  I  know  you  worry  yourself  too  much  abcftit 
that.  Now  just  suppose  I  had  nothing  at  all  to  do  — 
couldn't  find  any  thing  to  do,  when  I  most  needed  it ; 
shouldn't  we  be  worse  off  then,  father,  than  we  are  now  ? 
There  are  people  more  wretched  than  even  you  and  I  are. 
I've  seen  them  with  my  own  eyes,  this  very  wintelr.  But 
I  had  only  pity  and  sympathy  for  them.  That  might  not 
have  been  very  much,  but  it  was  all  I  had ;  it  was  my 
poor  little  mite." 

"  I  wish  /  had  a  poor  little  mite,  Amy,  to  throw  into 
our  treasury." 

"You  have  —  you  have,  father;  and  not  such  a  little 
one,  either.  Don't  you  know  you  have  ?  " 

"  What  is  it  ?  What  ?  I  should  be  glad  to  cast  it  in, 
Amy." 

"It's  your  love  for  me,  father.  Tiat  makes  me  richer 
every  day  than  all  else.  O,  if  I  could  tell  you,  and  if 
you  could  understand,  what  a  satisfaction  it  is  for  me  to 
be  useful  to  you,  when  you  have  done  so  much  all  my 
life  for  me  !  " 

The  father  threw  his  other  hand  across  her  shoulder, 
and  uttered  a  groan.  It  sounded  as  if  it  really  came  from 
the  depths  of  his  heart. 

Just   then   Mrs.  Dozy's   servant   girl   brought   in   the    . 


W  AMY   LEE. 

supper  on  a  tray,  and  placed  it  on  the  little  stand.  Then 
inquiring  of  Amy  if  there  was  any  thing  more  wanting, 
she  went  out  of  the  room  and  shut  the  door  behind  her. 
And  this  little  family  of  two  —  father  and  daughter  — 
drew  up  to  the  board,  while  she  poured  the  tea  from  their 
miniature  pot,  and  he  sipped  it  and  tried  as  hard  as  he 
could  for  a  moment  to  seem  altogether  happy. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  BESETTING  SIN. 

SUCH  were  the  conditions  on  which  Amy  and  her 
father  lived  in  the  house  of  Mrs.  Dozy,  that  it  was  quite 
the  same  as  if  they  were  keeping  house  alone  by  them 
selves.  Amy  hired  a  couple  of  rooms,  and  it  was  stipu 
lated  that  their  meals  should  be  regularly  sent  in  to  them. 
This  latter  arrangement  helped  along  that  feeling  of  inde 
pendence  which  her  father  so  much  desired  to  cherish, 
besides  securing  to  both  of  them  an  amount  of  quiet  that 
they  otherwise  might  not  in  such  a  position  have  been 
able  to  find.  And  it  relieved  Amy  of  considerable  anx 
iety,  too,  as  Mrs.  Dozy  was  always  quite  willing,  when 
the  former  was  absent  with  her  pupils,  to  drop  in  occa 
sionally  upon  her  father,  and  see  that  he  was  in  every 
respect  comfortable  and  wanted  for  nothing. 

A  few  days  only  after  the  evening  scene  selected  for 
opening  the  story,  Amy  took  leave  of  her  father  as  usual, 
and  went  crat  to  her  labor.  It  was  after  dinner,  and  the  air 
was  much  Hander  and  sunnier  than  it  had  lately  been, 
possibly  giving  distant  and  indistinct  hints  of  the  coming 
spring, 

* 


18  AMY   LEE. 

"  Now  you'll  make  yourself  as  easy  as  you  can,  father," 
were  her  last  words  to  him,  as  she  stooped  down  and  left 
a  child's  kiss  on  his  cheek.  "  If  you  want  any  thing 
while  I  am  gone,  you  can  just  step  into  the  other  room, 
you  know,  and  Mrs.  Dozy  will  wait  on  you.  Good  by, 
father.  I  shall  hurry  back  to  read  to  you,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes,"  said  her  father,  in  a  voice  that  lacked 
the  slightest  betrayal  either  of  energy  or  feeling.  And  so 
sinking  his  head  back  in  the  chair,  he  commenced  rubbing 
his  hands  together,  and  gave  up  to  the  sluggish  courses 
of  his  thought. 

Amy  tripped  down  the  stairs  and  lightly  along  the  street. 
She  had  three  lessons  to  give  that  afternoon,  and  they 
would  occupy  her  about  an  hour  each.  The  people  she 
met  seemed  to  wear  pleasanter  faces  than  usual,  and  she 
imagined  it  must  be  from  the  secret  influence  of  the 
weather.  There  are  such  days  and  half  days  sometimes 
in  every  winter,  that  fairly  cheat  one's  senses  out  of  the 
thraldom  of  the  season's  bleakness,  and  warm  the  heart 
as  with  the  most  genial  sunshine. 

For  an  hour,  perhaps,  her  father  sat  quietly  in  his  chair 
after  she  had  gone,  drifting  slowly  and  idly  along  whither 
soever  the  changing  tides  of  his  feeling  carried  him.  He 
looked  in  the  fire  of  coals  ;  he  looked  at  his  thin  hands ; 
he  looked  up  at  the  papered  wall ;  and  he  looked  into  the 
fire  again.  This  was  listlessness,  surely,  if  any  thing  was, 
and  even  his  weakened  intellect  could  not  fail  so  to  be 
hold  it. 


THE  BESETTING   SIN.  19 

Tired  at  length  with  the  recurrence  of  these  same  old 
shades  of  feeling,  he  got  up  from  his  chair  and  began  to 
pace  slowly  up  and  down  the  room.  Now  and  then  he 
stopped  to  look  in  the  little  glass  that  hung  over  the 
bureau ;  and  when  he  did  so,  he  brushed  his  gray  hair 
lightly  off  from  his  temples  with  one  hand,  saying  in  a 
loud  whisper  to  himself  the  while  —  "  Getting  to  be  old  ! 
getting  to  be  old  !  "  And  then  he  crossed  both  hands  be 
hind  him,  and  fell  into  his  slow  walk  again. 

Finally,  as  he  came  up  before  the  window  once  more,  he 
paused  to  look  out.  When  he  stopped  he  meant  only  to 
gratify  the  moment's  idle  whim ;  but  that  single  little 
moment  made  a  great  change  in  his  destiny.  The  pleasant 
sun  was  shining  down  the  sides  of  the  houses  over  the 
way,  and  lay  in  irregular  strips  here  and  there  along  the 
street,  furnishing  shadows  of  the  chimneys,  and  parapets, 
and  gables,  that  surmounted  some  of  the  dwellings  in 
that  vicinity.  The  street  was  exceedingly  quiet,  scarcely 
a  stray  dustman's  cart  rattling  lightly  over  the  stones,  and 
only  a  few  doves  fluttering  about  from  one  spot  to  another 
in  quest  of  such  chance  provender  as  their  bright  red  eyes 
could  espy. 

"  So  still !  "  said  he  to  himself,  looking  out  medita 
tively.  "  It  carries  me  back  —  carries  me  back  !  Those 
doves  now,  over  there,  how  happy  they  are  !  how  happy ! 
Why  can't  I  be  happy,  too  ?  I  can  be,  if  I  like,  I  know. 
Dreams  bring  happiness,  and  I  know  what  makes  dreams ! 
I  can  sit  here  by  this  window,  though  I  am  alone,  and  be 


20  AMY  LEE. 

as  happy  as  they.  Who  can  hinder  ?  It  will  all  be  in 
this  brain," — he  touched  his  hand  to  his  forehead, — 
"  in  this  brain." 

That  moment  he  had  fallen  again. 

For,  turning  swiftly  away  from  where  he  was  standing, 
he  began  to  walk  the  floor  much  more  excitedly,  and  went 
straight  at  last  to  the  drawers  of  Amy  in  her  little  room. 
The  opium  fiend  had  seized  him.  He  was  ready  to  go 
wherever  it  bade  him  follow. 

"  If  she  has  left  her  key  in  the  drawer,"  said  he, 
doubtingly.  "  Yes,  she  has !  she  has  !  "  And  he  pulled 
out  the  drawer  with  the  haste  of  a  man  who  was  a  much 
more  violent  robber  than  he. 

As  soon  as  he  had  opened  it,  he  proceeded  to  rummage 
for  her  purse.  He  handled  a  very  various  assortment 
indeed  of  things  alternately  useful  and  ornamental,  and 
at  last  laid  his  hand  upon  the  object  most  desired. 
Taking  the  purse  from  the  corner,  he  felt  of  its  two 
pockets,  and  stood  and  leisurely  made  his  calculation. 

"  Perhaps  if  I  take  out  what  silver  change  I  want," 
said  he  tc  himself,  "  it  will  never  be  missed  at  all ; 
whereas,  if  I  should  go  to  robbing  her  of  a  bank  bill,  she 
could  not  help  finding  it  out  the  first  time  she  goes  to  her 
purse.  Robbing  her,  did  I  say  ?  It's  not  robbing  her  at 
all.  Isn't  she  my  daughter  —  my  own  child?  Doesn't 
she  labor  for  me  as  well  as  for  herself?  Isn't  this  just  as 
much  my  money  as  it  is  hers  ?  No,  no,  indeed  ;  talk  of 
robbing,  forsooth,  when  a  man  takes  what  he  needs  from 


THE   BESETTING   SIN.  21 

the  purse  of  his  own  child !  I'll  help  myself  then.  I  am 
so  much  in  want  of  a  little  —  only  a  little,  just  to  console 
me,  and  to  bring  together  these  shattered  feelings,  and  to 
raise  the  spirits  to  a  healthiar  tone !  I  can't  abide  this 
way  of  living  long.  I  don't  think  I  can  get  through 
another  day,  unless  I  have  opium." 

Thinking  thus  to  silence  the  feeble  protests  of  his  con 
science  altogether,  he  set  about  emptying  his  daughter's 
purse  of  all  its  contents,  spreading  them  around  on  the 
top  of  her  little  dresser.  As  his  eyes  caught  the  bewil 
dering  brightness  of  the  hoarded  heap  of  silver,  and  ran 
over  the  figures  that  fixed  the  value  to  her  little  wad  of 
bank  notes,  his  brain  became  suddenly  dizzy,  and  he 
assumed  an  air  of  strength  that  seemed  in  him  almost 
preternatural. 

"  There  !  there  !  there ! "  whispered  he,  picking  out 
with  a  great  deal  of  care  one  piece  of  money  after  another ; 
<rl  think  that  will  be  enough ;  and  if  I  should  buy  a 
little  over,  why,  how  handy  it  will  be  for  me,  shut  up  here 
alone,  to  help  me  spin  out  these  long  hours  of  the  day 
when  she  is  gone." 

So  he  replaced  the  notes,  slipped  back  the  remainder 
of  the  silver  into  the  other  side  of  the  purse,  put  the  lat 
ter  into  the  drawer,  pushed  in  the  drawer  quietly,  and 
hurried  back  into  the  next  room.  All  this  sudden  mano3U- 
Tring  had  sufficed  to  bring  a  flush  to  his  cheeks,  that 
was  a  perfect  telltale  of  his  guilt.  Again  he  stepped  be 
fore  the  window  and  looked  out.  The  sun  was  as  pleasant 
as  before,  and  the  street  exactly  as  quiet. 


22  AMY   LEE. 

"  Why  can't  I  go  out,  such  a  day  as  this,  I  would  like 
to  know  ?  Who  tells  me  I  am  not  able  ?  Besides,  it's  to 
be  only  a  few  minutes,  a  very  few  minutes,  and  I  am 
right  back  again.  I  shall  try  it,  I  think,  at  any  rate." 

With  this  he  looked  around  for  his  shoes  and  his  fur- 
lined  overshoes,  —  for  on  pleasant  afternoons  Amy  very 
often  accompanied  him  herself  on  a  short  walk  down  the 
street,  —  and  hurried  to  put  them  on,  first  taking  the  pre 
caution,  however,  to  turn  the  key  in  the  door,  lest  Mrs. 
Dozy  might  happen  in  on  one  of  her  neighborly  errands. 
Then  he  took  down  his  fur  cap  and  cloak,  and  putting  on  the 
one  and  carefully  wrapping  the  other  around  him,  reported 
to  himself  that  he  was  ready  for  his  most  rash  adventure. 

Cautiously  he  turned  back  the  lock  again,  dreading  to 
catch  the  slightest  sound,  and  involuntarily  making  his 
mouth  work  itself  round  with  the  movement  of  the  key. 
At  first  he  dared  open  the  door  but  the  width  of  a  narrow 
crack ;  then,  as  he  heard  no  sign  of  a  noise  in  the  hall, 
he  essayed  a  still  wider  aperture,  so  that  he  could  thrust 
out  his  head  and  look  around  for  himself.  Seeing  no 
person  in  his  way,  he  stepped  forth  quickly  into  the  hall, 
and  glided  with  an  astonishingly  swift  motion  down  the 
stairs. 

The  latch  of  the  outer  door  happened  to  be  lifted ;  so 
there  would  be  no  difficulty  about  his  getting  in  again, 
without  a  key.  He  accordingly  placed  his  hand  upon  the 
knob,  and  effected  a  passage  immediately  into  the  open 
street.  As  he  went  along  so  skulkingly  down  the  walk, 


THE   BESETTING   SIN.  23 

wrapping  his  cloak  up  about  his  throat  and  face,  and 
hugging  to  the  wall  closely,  he  could  not  help  congratulat 
ing  himself  that  he  had  succeeded  so  easily  in  effecting 
his  escape ;  and  if  his  features  could  have  been  seen  by 
any  one,  they  would  have  appeared  distorted  to  an  almost 
unrecognizable  degree. 

Stealthily  as  a  depredating  cat  he  paced  along  over  the 
pavements  in  his  soft  overshoes,  until  he  had  reached 
the  corner  of  a  street  quite  distant  from  the  place  of 
his  residence.  There  he  stops  and  looks  for  a  moment 
thoughtfully  all  around  him.  The  whim  takes  him  that 
he  will  go  up  this  other  street,  and  he  pursues  his  way  in 
that  direction. 

Finally  he  felt  his  spirits  much  elated,  on  standing  be 
fore  a  shop  window  in  which  were  displayed  great  globes 
of  colored  mixtures,  the  certain  indications  of  a  druggist's 
establishment.  Seeing  these,  he  entered  without  any  fur 
ther  consideration. 

There  happened  to  be  only  a  boy-clerk  in  the  shop^who 
advanced  from  behind  the  counter  to  wait  on  his  new 
customer.  The  misguided  man  still  kept  his  cloak  drawn 
carefully  about  his  mouth,  determined  to  disguise  himself 
with  all  the  means  of  concealment  he  could  command. 
He  inquired  the  price  of  opium.  The  boy  told  him,  look 
ing  all  the  time  straight  in  his  eyes.  The  other's  gaze, 
however,  was  equal  to  the  trial,  especially  as  the  inward  • 
•fiv^q  Of  his  0]^  appetite  sent  up  wild  and  dazzling  flames 
into  his  eyto  continually.  Accordingly  he  told  him  how 


24  AMY    LEE. 

much  he  would  have,  and  laid  the  money  with  one  hand 
on  the  counter,  still  holding  the  cloak  about  his  mouth 
and  face  with  the  other.  The  boy  picked  up  the  silver, 
counted  it,  rattled  it  chinkingly  in  his  hand,  and  gazed  at 
his  customer  again.  It  was  evident  that  he  wished  to  be 
as  well  satisfied  as  he  could  of  the  character  of  the  person 
with  whom  he  was  dealing. 

"  I  wish  you  would  be  as  quick  as  you  can,"  said  the 
father  of  Amy,  turning  half  around  and  assuming  an  air 
of  perfect  carelessness.  Perhaps  he  dreaded  to  see  the 
door  open  and  another  person  walk  in. 

The  clerk  thereupon  made  haste  to  do  his  errand,  and 
in  a  short  time  laid  upon  the  counter  the  money's  worth 
of  the  drug  wrapped  in  a  clean  white  paper.  Mr.  Lee 
picked  it  up,  made  a  hurried  half  bow,  and  left  the  place. 
He  stepped  on  the  pavement  again  with  the  lightness  of 
one  who  felt  himself  already  travelling  in  dreams. 

Now  back  again  by  the  way  he  had  come.  He  walked 
as  if  his  feet  were  winged.  He  took  no  heed  of  space, 
and  thought  not  of  whom  he  might  meet.  Placing  the 
opium  in  his  side  pocket  with  wonderful  care,  he  folded 
his  cloak  with  both  arms  about  him,  and  paced  rapidly  on. 

O,  the  tyranny  of  appetite.  O,  the  sorrowful  sight  of 
a  poor  being,  fashioned  and  endowed  even  as  the  very 
highest  of  us  all,  groping  like  a  slave  along  the  dark 
chambers  of  this  god's  gloomy  palace,  and  seeking  and 
praying  —  not  to  come  at  the  light,  not  to  reach  the  open 
air  and  sky,  but  — to  penetrate  into  darker  and  still 


THE    BESETTING    SIN.  25 

darker  recesses  continually.  He  treasured  the  drug  as  if 
it  had  been  gold.  His  thoughts  gloated  over  it,  like  the 
thought  of  an  eager  money-digger  over  a  newly-fcoid 
fortune.  Imagination  was  already  at  work,  sketching  her 
beautiful  pictures  of  the  blissful  enjoyment  the  eating 
would  bring,  and  coloring  them  all  over  with  the  most 
gorgeous  and  bewildering  hues.  His  feelings  stretched 
themselves  to  much  more  than  the  feelings  of  the  poor 
dwarfed  creatures  he  met  on  his  way,  and  took  into  their 
all- surrounding  embrace  all  men,  and  nations,  and  king 
doms,  and  conditions.  These  grand  and  overpowering 
delights  he  had  tasted  often  enough  to  understand  some 
what  of  their  meaning ;  the  woe  that  followed  he  tried  to 
forget,  and  for  the  moment  did  succeed  in  forgetting. 

When  he  arrived  home  he  found  that  he  was  quite  out 
of  breath,  and  able  to  climb  the  stairs  but  slowly.  He 
opened  and  shut  the  outer  door  with  all  care,  hoping 
earnestly  that  no  one  would  discover  his  absence.  There 
was  nobody  to  be  seen  in  the  hall,  and  he  passed  into  his 
own  room  quietly.  Amy  had  not  yet  come  home  ;  there 
was  no  danger  of  that.  Had  Mrs.  Dozy  been  in  ?  For  a 
moment  the  inquiry  staggered  him.  "At  all  events," 
said  he  to  himself,  "  she'll  not  fail  to  call  again  very  soon, 
if  she  has,  and  ask  me  where  I've  been."  But  no  Mrs. 
Dozy  came  to  inquire  where  he  had  been,  and  his  heart 
was  at  rest.  The  purloining  of  the  silver  from  Amy's 
purse,  —  that  gave  him  no  thought,  and  of  course  no 
uneasiness ;  the  fiend  of  appetite  controlled  and  over- 
3 


26  AMY    LEE. 

shadowed  all  his  better  feelings,  eradicating  almost  those 
that  are  supposed  capable  of  being  rooted  out  only  with 
nature  itself. 

Taking  off  his  cloak  and  cap  with  all  despatch,  he  hung 
them  in  their  accustomed  places,  and  then  slipped  off  his 
overshoes ;  and  as  he  seated  himself  so  quietly  again  in 
his  great  chair,  he  could  not  help  feeling  the  utter  pros 
tration  and  languor  that  now  settled  upon  him,  by  way  of  . 
compensation  for  his  very  imprudent  and  exciting  walk. 

"  Ah,  but  I'll  come  out  of  this,"  said  he,  with  a  dull 
smile  playing  faintly  about  his  mouth ;  "  these  moods 
shall  not  control  me  in  this  way.'*  And  drawing  forth 
the  paper  of  opium  from  his  side  pocket,  he  administered 
to  his  depraved  and  destroying  appetite  a  large  enough 
dose  for  its  present  wants,  and  went  and  hid  the  rest 
hurriedly  about  his  bed. 

"  When  I  go  to  bed,"  said  he  again,  "  I  shall  know 

where  to  find  more.     This  lying  awake  so  nights " 

He  did  not  stop  to  finish  the  sentence,  but  threw  himself 
once  more  into  an  easy  posture  in  his  chair,  and  let  the 
subtile  poison  work  its  secret  way  through  his  brain. 

The  fire  was  beautifully  bright,  and  he  looked  into  it 
for  an  hour.  The  sunshine  and  the  doves  in  the  street  he 
had  quite  forgotten ;  nothing  now  was  present  with  him 
but  the  opium  and  the  blaze.  With  an  eager  longing  did 
he  wait  for  the  moment  when  he  should  stand  giddy  on 
the  brilliant  portal  of  his  dreams. 


CHAPTER    III. 
THE^ND  OF  IT. 

AMY  came  home  after  a  time,  and  accosted  her  father 
in  her  usual  pleasant  way.  She  found  him  sitting  in  his 
chair  still,  apparently  wrapped  in  the  cloak  of  his  quiet 
thoughts.  But  the  instant  he  looked  up  in  her  face,  and 
made  an  attempt  to  reply  to  her,  his  eye  kindled  with  a 
new  and  a  strangely  tremulous  light,  and  his  articulation 
immediately  betrayed  him. 

"  Such  a  glorious  time  as  I'm  having  here,  Amy ! "  said 
he.  "  Why,  you  haven't  been  gone  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
have  you  ?  How  the  time  does  fly  away  !  " 

She  saw  without  hesitation  that  he  had  stealthily 
managed  to  indulge  in  his  old  habit  again,  and  her  heart 
for  a  moment  sank  within  her.  But  recollecting  that  it 
would  not  mend  the  matter  at  all  to  put  a  bad  face  upon 
it  in  his  presence,  she  answered  him  as  nearly  as  she  could 
in  her  usual  pleasant  way,  and  began  to  set  about  her  cus 
tomary  preparations  for  the  evening.  Still  there  was  a 
burden  at  her  heart  that  she  bore  about  with  her  sorrow 
fully.  Though  she  concealed  her  feelings  from  him,  who 
would  be  likely  at  such  a  time  as  this  to  cherish 

(27) 


28  AMY   LEE. 

picions  not  at  all  calculated  to  add  to  their  happiness,  she 
was  still  unable  to  cheat  herself  out  of  her  most  wretched 
and  despondent  convictions.  If  her  father  would  but 
break  away  from,  this  habit !  He  had  promised,  and  for  a 
long  time  his  promise  had  been  kept ;  but  where  and 
what  was  he  now  ?  It  made  her  heart  sick  to  think  where 
all  this  might  end  ;  she  shuddered  at  the  idea  of  pursuing 
guch  thoughts  whither  they  must  lead  her. 

The  visions  were  gathering  about  her  father,  and  he 
talked  incessantly.  Now  he  sat  and  dreamed  aloud  in  a 
soft  and  low  voice,  as  in  a  happy  soliloquy.  Now  he  rose 
suddenly  in  his  chair,  and  turning  his  face  around  upon 
Amy,  reeled  off  his  long  and  involute  sentences  to  her  till 
he  was  weary.  Scarcely  for  a  whole  minute  would  his 
excited  condition  permit  him  to  keep  silence.  His  tongue 
was  going  continually. 

Amy  would  have  gone  and  sat  lovingly  by  his  side  and 
tried  to  compose  him,  but  she  too  well  knew  that  would 
be  useless  now.  If  it  were  himself  by  whose  side  she 
was  to  sit  down,  it  had  been  a  different  matter.  But  to 
go  and  attempt  to  reason  with  the  wild  demon  that  pos 
sessed  him  would  be  to  waste  her  strength  and  wear 
away  her  heart. 

"  But  do  you  know,  Amy,"  said  her  father,  half  turning 
about  again,  in  his  controlling  delirium,  —  "do  you  know 
what  a  splendid  afternoon  we  have  had  ?  and  how  I  have 
stood  at  the  window  and  watched  the  fluttering  doves, 
and  followed  that  glorious,  glorious  sunshine  back  to  the 


THE   END    OF   IT.  29 

source  whence  it  comes  ?  and  how  like  new  creatures  all 
the  people  have  seemed  that  passed  in  the  street?  Do 
you  know  what  castles  all  those  houses  are  on  the  oppo 
site  side  of  the  way,  with  their  turrets,  and  battlements, 
and  pinnacles,  and  spires  ?  and  what  gay  people  inhabit 
them,  too  —  far  brighter  than  any  I  ever  read  of  in  the 
old  romances,  or  than  were  ever  celebrated  in  the  flowing 
numbers  of  the  Minnesingers?  and  how  I  can  see  long 
galleries  running  round  and  round  their  fine  castles,  and 
then  high  galleries  through  and  through  them,  hung 
about  with  so  many  beautiful  pictures  of  men  and  women, 
and  lighted  by  that  same  yellow  sunlight  that  streamed 
soft  through  the  most  golden  mists  ? 

"  Ah,  what  royalty  this  life  of  ours  is  ! "  And  he 
turned  back  and  looked  into  the  fire.  "  What  a  grand 
affair  it  all  is  !  Who  can  measure  it  ?  Who  can  sound  it  ? 
Who  can  go  all  around  and  tell  its  infinite  circumference  ? 
And  to  tie  ourselves  down  so  to  these  little  matters  of  every 
day  life,  and  get  perplexed  so  by  the  swift  trailing  of  the 
few  shadows  over  our  heads,  and  grope  and  mope  so 
solemnly  because  we  will  not  see  the  way,  when  the  true 
way  is  all  the  while  so  dazzling  and  glorious,  —  it's  folly, 
I  say,  and  worse  than  folly ;  it's  a  slow  and  weary  death. 
Better  die  at  once,  and  pass  out  of  these  shadows.  But 
to  walk  so  loftily  as  one  can,  if  only  he  will,  —  ah,  that 
is  indeed  a  new  and  surpassing  dream.  There  is  nothing 
to  be  compared  with  it  for  splendor.  What  may  not  one 
finally  know  ?  How  high  may  he  not  reach  ?  Who  can 
3* 


30  13£Y   LEE. 

tell  how  many  bright  worlds  there  are  —  sphere  beyond 
sphere,  sphere  beyond  sphere,  till  even  space  itself  is  not 
sufficient  to  more  than  hold  and  keep  them  all?  Who 
knows  the  beings  that  may  live  beyond  us,  far  out  of  our 
little  short  reach,  away  in  the  dim  ethe'r  where  God  is, 
and  where  mortal  man  is  not  and  cannot  exist  ?  " 

His  dreams  carried  him  in  this  manner  on  and  on,  till 
he  was  completely  lost  in  them.  The  web  of  them  was 
woven  so  subtilely  and  intricately  by  the  power  that  was 
upon  him,  he  could  not  extricate  himself  from  the  mesh, 
nor  extend  his  bedazzled  and  bewildered  vision  beyond 
their  maze.  His  thoughts  ascended  to  heights  that  in  a 
state  of  calm  sanity  he  could  never  have  comprehended ; 
and  they  sounded  to  deeps  from  which  it  would  seem  im 
possible  for  a  rational  mind  ever  to  come  away.  He  did 
not  walk  on  the  earth ;  he  flew  with  the  wings  of  an 
immortal.  He  saw  not  any  shadows  on  the  ground,  or  on 
his  soul ;  he  lived  and  bathed  his  thoughts  in  the  broad 
and  blazing  sunlight  that  encircled  and  enveloped  the 
system  of  the  universe.  It  was  the  wildest  and  most  in 
explicable  insanity  that  the  mind  of  mortal  could  undergo. 
While  its  influence  was  upon  him,  he  seemed  to  live  a 
thousand  hours  in  one.  All  the  forces  of  his  soul  were 
concentrated  astonishingly.  He  was  lifted  up  to  a  lofty 
and  dizzy  height  by  the  fearful  power  into  whose  hands 
he  had  surrendered  himself ;  but  alas  !  only  to  be  dashed 
down  the  more  fiercely  into  depths  of  dreary  gloom,  from 
which  return  seemed  almost  impossible. 


THE    END    OF   IT.  81 

The  girl  came  in  at  length  with  the  supper,  which  Amy 
was  thoughtful  enough  to  receive  at  the  door.  Placing  it 
herself  on  the  little  stand,  she  took  her  own  seat  as  usual 
opposite  her  father,  and  asked  him  tenderly  if  he  would 
not  have  tea. 

"  Tea ! "  exclaimed  he,  with  a-  wild  gesture,  turning 
round  suddenly  upon  her  —  "no,  indeed.  What  do  1 
want  of  so  tame  an  herb  as  that  —  so  innocent,  —  so  like 
the  drink  you  mix  for  children  ?  No,  give  me  the  glorious 
drug,  that  makes  one  feel  his  immortality.  Give  me  that 
and  you  may  have  the  tea." 

Tears  stole  into  Amy's  eyes  in  spite  of  all  the  strength 
of  her  resolution,  and  she  felt  that  her  hand  trembled  as 
she  poured  out  the  cup  for  herself.  She  was  sad  beyond 
measure.  O,  if  but  one  single  heart  could  have  shared 
with  her  this  weary,  weary  burden!  But  in  the  wide 
world  where  was  that  heart  to  be  found  ?  Yet  she  could 
support  it  alone ;  for  she  prayed  for  strength,  and  strength 
was  always  given  her;  she  prayed  for  calmness  and 
patience,  and  her  soul  was  possessed  and  full.  It  was 
nothing  but  weak  humanity  that  had  brought  the  tears ; 
they  would  dry  up  in  the  warmth  of  her  heavenly  Father's 
abounding  love,  and  she  would  be  stronger  than  ever 
again. 

So  she  sat  and  tried  to  eat  her  supper  alone.  Her 
father's  gaze  was  wild  and  staring,  and  when  she  happened 
to  look  up  and  catch  his  eye,  her  own  was  really  bewil 
dered  with  what  she  saw.  Yet  she  managed  to  get  through 


32  AMY   LEE. 

with  the  meal,  and  felt  somewhat  refreshed.  Her  after 
noon's  tasks  happened  to  have  been  unusually  protracted 
and  tiresome,  and  when  she  came  home  she  hoped  to  have 
rest.  But  what  rest  ?  And  how  ?  And  with  whom  ? 

The  evening  wore  away  drearily.  All  the  time  her 
father  kept  up  his  persistent  talk,  dreaming  his  idle  and 
preposterous  dreams,  and  wearying  her  beyond  measure. 
Still  she  did  not  offer  any  complaint.  It  would  have  been 
idle  in  her  to  protest  to  him,  for  he  would  not  have  under 
stood  her.  All  that  was  left  her  was,  simply  to  be  patient 
and  endure  in  silence.  She  knew  that  he  was  wasting  his 
little  remaining  strength  in  a  fearful  manner;  but  what 
help  was  there  for  it  that  she  could  command  ?  She  must 
sit  and  watch  him  whom  during  the  reign  of  the  drug  she 
could  not  even  call  "  father,"  and  nurse  her  grief  alone. 

When  at  length  it  was  time  to  retire,  she  so  signified  to 
him,  and  withdrew  with  many  childish  misgivings  into  her 
own  apartment.  Immediately  she  fell  on  her  knees  at  the 
foot  of  her  bed  and  offered  a  prayer.  It  was  only  for 
strength.  She  besought  no  selfish  and  temporal  good. 
She  asked  for  faith  to  believe  that  all  things  were  done 
well.  -  She  begged  for  a  perfect  trust  in  the  Providence 
that  is  over  all  things,  and  in  all,  and  through  all,  forever. 
The  whole  of  her  petition  could  be  summed  up  in  the 
single  phrase,  "  Thy  will  be  done." 

And  after  many  tears  —  inevitable  signs  only  of  the 
prostration  of  nature  —  she  fell  asleep. 

Of  course  she  had  had  her  suspicions  of  her  father's 


THE   END    OP    IT.  33 

going  out  that  afternoon,  for  she  knew  that  he  could  not 
have  been  supplied  with  the  means  of  gratifying  his  ap 
petite  if  he  had  not  left  the  house ;  but  she  knew  the 
uselessness  of  putting  to  him  any  interrogatories  in  his 
present  condition,  and  refrained  from  even  alluding  to  the 
subject.  As  well,  too,  knew  she  that  he  must  have  taken 
what  money  he  needed  for  his  purpose  from  her  purse  ; 
but  she  felt  too  sick  at  heart  to  go  to  it  and  count  over 
her  little  hoard,  that  she  might  see  how  much  had  been 
abstracted.  It  made  her  downcast  indeed  to  let  her 
thoughts  follow  the  subject  along,  and  she  heartily  wished 
she  could  banish  it  from  her  mind  altogether. 

Scarcely  had  Amy  withdrawn,  when  her  father  seemed 
to  come  to  himself  again.  A  luminous  moment  dawned 
on  him.  But  the  fiend  claimed  even  that  as  his1  own,  and 
put  it  into  the  victim's  heart  to  consent  to  the  sacrifice. 

He  remembered  where  he  had  secreted  the  deadly  drug, 
and  crept  stealthily  to  the  spot.  With  much  cautiousness 
he  withdrew  -it  again  from  its  hiding-place,  and  unrolled 
the  paper.  He  gloated  over  it  with  wonderful  joy.  He 
felt  as  if  he  could  hug  the  colossal  spirit  it  imbodied  to 
his  excited  breast. 

Slowly  he  divided  off  from  the  whole  lump  what  he 
thought  he  should  need  for  the  night.  Then  he  rolled  it 
all  together  in  his  palm,  and  said  to  himself  that  there 
was  not  enough  ;  a  little  more,  and  he  should  be  satisfied. 
So  he  divided  from  the  lump  an  additional  piece. 

"Now  I  shall  sleep,  I  guess,"  said  he.     "  No  more  of 


84  AMY   LEE.' 

these  terrible  dreams,  Amy.  I  will  sleep  as  soundly  as 
even  you."  And  he  took  down  the  whole  of  the  prepa 
ration  at  a  single  dose.  It  was  a  very  large  one,  for  it  was 
administered  not  by  a  rational  being,  but  by  a  man  pos 
sessed  of  its  own  wild  spirit.  He  threw  off  his  clothes 
without  difficulty,  and  sought  a  night's  long  and  unbro 
ken  rest. 

It  would  not  come  at  once,  however.  The  drug  was 
not  potent  enough  for  that.  It  rather  dissipated  and 
drove  off  drowsy  influences,  than  enticed  and  controlled 
them.  He  lay,  therefore,  for  a  long  time  awaiting  only  the 
approach  of  the  balm  that  night  rarely  refuses  to  bring. 
And  late  in  the  night,  after  the  town  clocks  aad  struck 
many  hours  in  their  lonely  steeples,  he  sank  away  into  a 
deep  and  profound  slumber" . 

As  time  passed,  how  profound  -and  deep  that  slumber 
grew !  His  breathing  came  and  went  in  such  short  and 
low  swells  of  his  lungs  !  His  eyes  were  sunken  as  if 
weights  were  pressing  down  their  lids.  A  fearful  sallow- 
ness  made  his  features  seem  still  more  unnatural,  and  gave 
his  face  the  aspect  even  of  ghastliness  and  death.  He 
lay  still  —  very  still.  There  was  scarcely  any  motion  of 
the  bedclothes ;  no  movement  of  uneasy  limbs ;  no  occa 
sional  drawings  of  longer  and  deeper  breaths ;  no  turning 
over  of  the  weary  head  upon  the.  pillow.  All  was  calm, 
composed,  and  fearfully  quiet.  If  he  had  not  taken  the 
potion  he  had  before  entering  upon  this  sleep,  it  would 
have  been  so  unnatural  as  to  arouse  the  deepest  fears. 


THE    END    OF    IT.  35 

Amy  did  not  rest  at  all  well.  Two  or  three  times  she 
got  up  and  went  to  the  door  opening  into  the  other 
apartment,  and  listened  carefully  to  see  if  he  was  quiet. 
A  needless  anxiety ;  he  lay  as  placid  as  a  child.  Still 
her  thoughts  were  much  disturbed,  and  she  could  never 
have  told  why.  He  caused  great  anxieties  for  her  heart, 
much  as  she  nevertheless  loved  him.  In  truth  it  was 
nothing  but  her  love  for  him  that  permitted  these  anxieties 
and  fears.  How  long  and  how  much  would  she  not  have 
been  glad  to  suffer  for  him,  if  only  he  could  have  become 
free  from  his  galling  chains. 

It  was  quite  seven  o'clock,  however,  before  she  rose ; 
and  immediately  after  dressing  she  went  into  her  father's 
apartment  to  clear  the  grate  and  kindle  the  fire.  On 
tiptoe  almost  she  stepped  across  the  floor,  unwilling  to 
awaken  him  from  the  slumber  she  thought  his  exhausted 
nature  must  need.  Little  by  little  she  shook  down  the 
ashes  through  the  bars  into  the  pan,  and  cleared  away  the 
refuse  that  remained  from  the  last  day's  combustion. 

She  stepped  to  the  closet  to  get  the  hod  of  soft  coal, 
and  laid  it  on  the  papers  she  had  torn  and  twisted  for  the 
purpose  of  kindling  it.  And  next  she  brought  out  the 
anthracite,  and  silently  laid  on  the  shining  pieces  one  by 
one  with  the  tongs.  And  finally,  after  touching  the  paper 
underneath  with  a  lighted  match,  she  placed  the  blower 
before  all,  and  went  about  setting  both  that  room  and  her 
own  "  to  rights." 

She  had  made  her  bed,  swept  her  floor  a  little,  and 


36  AMY   LEE. 

arranged  her  dress  for  the  morning ;  and  now  she  went 
back  to  see  to  the  fire.  Taking  down  the  heated  blower, 
she  found  the  grate  within  a  mass  of  glowing  coals.  She 
added  yet  more  anthracite,  and  put  the  hods  away  in  the 
closet.  Amy  was  a  pattern  of  order  and  neatness,  as  the 
reader  must  already  conclude ;  few  girls  could  be  found 
that  would  surpass  her.  And  having  made  a  cheerful  fire 
and  swept  the  hearth,  she  proceeded  to  commence  her 
arrangements  for  their  breakfast. 

Her  eyes  went  searchingly  over  to  the  bed  where  her 
father  lay.  There  was  not  the  least  motion  discoverable 
about  him.  He  slept  profoundly  indeed.  His  limbs 
were  still.  His  head  lay  buried  deeply  in  the  pillow. 
There  was  no  working  of  his  features,  although  that 
corner  of  the  room  was  shaded,  and  she  might  not  hence 
be  so  well  able  to  discover  it. 

Thinking  it  best  now  to  awaken  him  that  he  might 
make  ready  for  breakfast,  she  called  to  him,  standing 
where  she  was  by  the  hearth.  But  to  no  purpose.  Again 
she  called,  and  watched  to  see  some  slight  symptom  of 
waking  ;  but  none  as  yet. 

"  Father,"  said  she,  advancing  a  step  or  two  towards 
the  bed.  Still  he  had  not  a  word  of  reply  for  her. 

"  Father,"  and  a  step  or  two  still  nearer. 

Finding  that  he  slept  so  deeply,  she  went  to  his  bed 
side  and  looked  in  his  face. 

O,  such  a  shock  as  went  through  her  soul,  when  her 
eyes  rested  on  those  thin  and  pinched  features  !  Such  a 


THE    END    OF    IT.  37 

feeling  as  thrilled  her  entire  being,  rendering  her  for  the 
moment  speechless,  nerveless,  motionless,  lost  altogether ! 
She  felt  as  if  she  must  fall  to  the  floor. 

His  eyes  were  shut  tightly,  and  his  mouth  was  a  very 
little  way  open.  He  did  not  breathe  at  all.  There  was 
no  breath  to  be  felt,  no  sound  of  breathing  to  be  heard, 
no  motion  in  the  least  perceptible.  Like  a  corpse  he  lay 
in  the  bed,  in  the  stillness  of  an  everlasting  sleep. 

Amy  did  not  cry  out  when  she  felt  herself  suddenly 
recovering.  Never  seemed  she  so  perfectly  possessed  of 
all  her  faculties.  She  placed  a  hand  under  each  shoulder, 
and  gently  lifted  him  up.  She  laid  her  mouth  close  to 
his  ear,  and  spoke  to  him  again.  She  listened  to  catch  his 
lightest  breathing.  She  put  her  hand  upon  his  forehead 
to  trace  any  lurking  warmth  that  would  assert  the  posses 
sion  of  life.  But  no  syllable  of  answer  to  her  call,  no 
movement  as  of  breathing,  no  remaining  warmth  to  testify 
that  life  still  held  its  shattered  and  long-besieged  citadel. 

He  was  dead  and  cold. 

And  the  tyrant  drug  had  done  its  work  there,  leaving 
only  this  poor  wreck  in  witness  of  the  sure  and  certain 
destruction  that  follows  fast  after  its  fascinating  tyranny. 

Amy  sat  down  on  the  bedside,  and  burying  her  face  in 
her  hands,  wept  and  moaned,  —  O,  no  heart  in  the  world 
can  tell  how  bitterly. 
4 


CHAPTER    IV. 

ABOUT  THE  FUTURE. 

THE  servant  girl  came  in  with  the  breakfast,  and  placed 
it  on  the  stand  in  the  greatest  alarm,  for  Amy  weeping 
was,  to  her  eyes,  a  new  and  unexpected  sight.  She  stood 
a  single  moment  dumbly  regarding  her,  and  immediately 
hurried  out  of  the  room  to  acquaint  her  mistress  with  her 
strange  discovery. 

Presently  Mrs.  Dozy  herself  entered,  looking  wildly 
every  where  about  the  apartment,  until  she  espied  Amy  at 
the  bedside.  Then  going  straight  up  to  her,  she  gently 
put  her  hand  on  her  shoulder,  and  asked  her  what  was  the 
matter. 

"Why,  Miss  Lee,  Miss  Lee,"  she  ejaculated.  "  What 
has  happened  to  you  ?  " 

Amy  could  not  speak,  and  she  could  not  look  up.  It 
seemed  as  if  her  heart  was  deep  in  the  slough  of  a  very 
sore  and  dark  distress. 

The  servant  stood  looking  through  the  half-open  door, 
her  face  expressing  the  most  decided  marks  of  sympathy 
and  alarm. 

From  regarding  Amy,  Mrs.  Dozy's  gaze  fell  upon  the 

(38) 


ABOUT    THE    FUTURE.  39 

countenance  of  her  father,  and  then  in  an  instant  she  com 
prehended  the  whole  of  the  great  trouble. 

"  Why,  he's  dead  !  he's  dead !  "  she  exclaimed,  with  a 
sudden  start,  without  thinking  of  the  effect  it  must  have 
on  Amy. 

The  latter  cried  out  in  a  voice  of  deep  anguish,  accom 
panying  it  with  quick  assenting  motions  of  her  head, 
"  I  know  it,  I  know  it.  He's  dead." 

After  a  short  lapse  of  time,  needed  as  much  for  Mrs. 
Dozy  to  recover  some  degree  of  her  equanimity  as  for 
Amy  to  quiet  her  sobbing,  the  former  wound  her  arm 
affectionately  about  the'  poor  girl's  waist,  and  led  her  un 
resisting  to  a  chair  near  the  fire. 

"  Child,  child,"  softly  spake  Mrs.  Dozy,  "  you  must 
not  take  on  so.  Try  to  be  calm,  just  a  little.  It  will  be 
so  much  better  for  you.  The  trouble  is  a  great  one,  I 
know  ;  but  you  can  bear  it  easier  if  you  try  to  be  calm." 

Amy  responded  with  little  else  than  sobs,  still  burying 
her  face  in  her  hands.  The  kind  woman,  however,  removed 
them  gradually,  and  suffered  her  to  lay  her  sick  head 
against  her  breast. 

"  I  wouldn't  cry,  dear  child.  I'm  sure  I  wouldn't  cry. 
How  did  he  die  ?  But  you  don't  know,  though.  There, 
there,  don't  cry  so,  dear  soul.  You  shall  have  every  thing 
done  that  can  be  done,  and  if  I  am  able,  a  good  deal 
more.  You  was  always  such  a  good  child.  I  really 
don't  think  you  have  any  thing  to  reproach  yourself  for. 
You  have  been  the  very  best  of  daughters  to  him,  and 


40  AMY   LEE. 

every  body  knew  it,  and  loved  you  the  more  for  it. 
Only  be  quiet,  dear.  Be  calm  as  you  can.  I  know 
it's  a  great  trial  —  a  great  trial  indeed ;  but  we  all 
of  us  have  to  go  through  with  them  at  some  time  or 
other,  and  we  must  try  and  get  reconciled." 

Thus  she  went  on,  essaying  in  her  innocently  simple 
way  to  bring  balm  to  the  freshly-opened  wounds  of  the 
poor  sufferer.  ^ 

But  it  was  the  physical  weakness  chiefly  of  Amy's 
nature  that  caused  the  storm  of  her  present  distress.  It 
would  at  length  slowly  abate,  and  she  would  be  controlled 
only  by  those  calm  and  translucent  thoughts  that  fur 
nished  her  happiness  every  day  she  lived.  Little  enough 
knew  Mrs.  Dozy,  sympathizing  as  she  really  was  too,  of 
the  true  state  of  Amy's  feelings.  All  she  could  see  and 
understand  was  this  outward  sorrow.  As  it  was  violent, 
so  she  thought  it  must  have  unseated  even  the  child's 
deeper  and  profounder  sentiments.  She  was  able  to 
detect  but  little  of  the  strong  and  abiding  trust  that  held 
the  girl's  soul  fast  as  by  an  anchor.  She  could  discover 
scarce  any  of  that  all-pervading  faith,  that,  after  this 
short  storm  of  pent-up  feeling  was  over,  would  shine  out 
over  her  youthful  character  like  the  sun  bursting  out  of 
the  rifted  clouds. 

Amy  finally  consented  to  be  conducted  into  the  other 
part  of  the  house,  away  from  the  sights  and  the  associa 
tions  that  wrought  with  such  power  upon  her.  Mrs. 
Dozy  tried  to  prevail  on  her  to  take  some  nourishment, 


ABOUT   THE   FTTTTTBE.  41 

and  after  a  time  succeeded  in  her  efforts.  The  girl  was 
sent  out  to  acquaint  a  few  of  the  neighbors  with  the 
startling  occurrence,  and  they  came  instantly  to  offer  help 
and  needed  sympathy.  Others,  who  heard  of  it,  hurried 
breathlessly  in  the  direction  of  the  house  to  learn  all  the 
particulars,  if  so  it  might  happen  they  could  be  the  first 
to  report  them. 

In  the  course  of  the  day  the  coroner  came,  who  on 
learning  the  circumstances  of  Mr.  Lee's  sickness  and  his 
whole  case,  concluded  that  it  would  be  unnecessary  to 
hold  an  inquest  over  the  body,  and  afterwards  left  the 
house. 

It  is  needless  for  me  to  narrate  more  particularly  to  the 
reader  all  the  many  little  incidents  that  transpired  subse 
quently  to  this  ;  how  sad  and  dreary  every  thing  looked  to 
Amy  about  her  room,  now  her  father  was  dead ;  what  a 
strange  feeling  it  caused  her,  to  behold  herself  clad  in  a 
mourning  suit  for  the  first  time;  what  sensations  the 
solemnization  of  the  burial  rite  produced ;  what  friends 
came  in  to  try  (as  they  kindly  thought)  to  console  her ; 
what  ideas  possessed  her  mind  about  the  future  ;  and  how 
bitterly  she  thought  of  one  to-morrow's  following  in  quick 
and  steady  succession  after  another,  and  no  father  to 
whom  to  look,  not  for  protection,  it  is  true,  but  yet  for 
daily  companionship.  Grief  rolls  a  strong  and  turbid  wave 
over  every  human  heart.  There  are  not  those  living  who 
are  at  all  times  quite  reconciled  to  the  loss  of  their  dearest 
friends,  and  quite  ready  to  give  them  up  forever.  This 
4* 


42  AilT    LEE. 

separation  from  those  we  love,  with  its  attendant  silence 
and  mystery,  is,  after  all,  the  most  trying  ordeal  through 
which  we  are  any  of  us  called  to  pass ;  and  happy  indeed 
is  the  one  who  at  no  single  moment  feels  the  rising  of  a 
murmur,  or  the  doubting  interrogatories  of  reason,  or  the 
most  trifling  weakness  of  his  faith.  We  can  part  with 
our  limbs,  and  be  stoics  during  the  operation ;  but  this 
rending  and  tearing  of  all  the  subtler,  and  tenderer,  and 
more  delicate  fibres  of  the  heart,  —  who,  who  in  perfect 
calmness  is  strong  enough  to  abide  it  ? 

All  the  mournful  ceremonies  were  at  an  end.  The  last 
surviving  parent  now  slept  the  final  sleep,  and  the  little 
apartments  were  quiet  and  lonely.  At  first  Amy  thought 
she  could  not  go  about  her  regular  tasks  at  instruction  again, 
they  would  bring  up  so  many  associations  of  sorrow. 
Then  her  thoughts  turned  and  questioned  themselves,  and 
sought  to  learn  whence  came  this  unquiet,  and  this  practi 
cal  murmuring.  And  falling  on  her  knees  to  beseech  for 
more  faith,  —  for  faith  that  would  override  and  control 
every  circumstance,  every  feeling,  every  thought,  and 
every  association,  —  she  felt  that  a  new  strength  had 
entered  into  her  heart  and  immediately  taken  full  pos 
session. 

At  once,  therefore,  she  returned  to  her  usual  occupation, 
carrying  about  a  lighter  frame  of  mind,  and  invigorated 
even  for  any  new  trials  that  might  be  put  upon  her.  Her 
old  pupils  found  her  all  she  had  ever  been  to  them,  and 
more.  A.  sweet  incense  seemed  to  have  been  crushed  out 


ABOUT   THE   FTTTUBE.  43 

of  her  nature  by  the  bereavement  that  had  fallen  so 
heavily.  They  studied  furtively  the  heavenly  expressions 
of  her  face  as  she  talked  with  them,  and  wondered  why 
she  should  seem  so  much  happier  than  before.  Poor 
children,  they  had  the  precious  secret  yet  to  learn  for 
themselves.  Not  yet  had  they  found  the  centre  of  all 
their  existence  in  God. 

But  as  time  passed  away,  and  these  daily  local  associa 
tions  continually  presented  themselves  to  her  mind  with  a 
force  that  began  to  weary,  if  not  to  weaken  her,  she  sat 
down  seriously  to  ask  herself  if  some  way  of  relief  might 
not  be  found.  To  remain  continually  where  she  now  was, 
would  be  to  become  inclined  to  a  morbid  state  of  feeling. 
To  go  the  same  round,  and  battle  against  the  same  per 
plexing  influences  every  day,  was  a  life  that  not  only 
offered  her  no  resources  for  actual  enjoyment,  but  had  the 
effect  even  to  shut  out  such  as  might  from  unseen  quarters 
be  willing  to  enter.  She  saw,  the  more  she  thought  upon 
it,  that  it  would  be  better  for  her  to  try  and  change  the 
scene.  Dear  as  this  spot  had  once  been,  it  was  only 
draped  about  with  the  gloom  of  unhappy  recollections 
now.  If  she  could  take  into  her  feelings  a  new  circle  of 
objects,  whether  dearer  or  not  than  those  around  her  now, 
it  might  bring  a  relief. 

And  so  she  thought  of  the  matter  every  day. 

Spring  had  fast  been  coming  along,  though  the  bright 
season  of  flowers  was  not  yet  reached.  It  was  the  lat 
ter  part  of  April  already.  Amy  had  made  her  arrange- 


44  AMY   LEE. 

ments  to  leave  the  house  of  Mrs.  Dozy  by  the  first  of 
May,  intending  to  retreat  for  the  summer  into  one  of  the 
quiet  interior  villages  of  Vermont ;  there  she  was  going  to 
open  a  little  school,  that  would  offer  her  many  opportu 
nities  of  enlarging  and  enriching  her  nature  in  doing 
good,  and  furnish  her  besides  with  means  of  gaining  an 
independent  subsistence.  She  resolved  to  give  over  her 
music  instruction  for  a  while,  and  change  not  only  the 
scene  but  the  occupation.  Into  her  new  work  she  would 
be  permitted  to  carry  as  much  of  her  heart  as  she  ever 
could  into  the  old,  while  its  shifting  and  various  items  of 
occupation  would  tend  to  refresh  her  by  their  very  light 
ness.  She  would  see  children,  and  their  natures  would 
instruct  her  own.  From  them  she  would  learn  greater 
simplicity,  and  innocence,  and  faith.  She  was  really  re 
joiced,  to  sum  it  all  up,  that  the  time  for  her  departure 
was  so  near  at  hand. 

She  was  sitting  in  her  room  one  afternoon,  just  as 
twilight  was  gathering,  thinking  of  the  future.  The  bills 
of  her  pupils  had  been  collected,  and  all  her  own  debts 
properly  paid.  The  balance  remaining  in  her  possession 
was  quite  respectable.  She  could  not  help  thinking  how 
much  she  would  like  to  place  it  all,  little  as  it  was,  at 
the  disposal  of  some  dear  friend. 

Mrs.  Dozy  knocked  gently  on  the  door,  and  instantly 
opened  it.  Finding  Amy  thus  alone,  she  said  she  thought 
she  would  run  in  and  pass  a  few  minutes  with  her,  if  for 
nothing  more  than  to  inquire  how  she  was. 


ABOUT   THE   FUTURE.  45 

Amy  was  very  grateful  for  her  thoughtfulness.  Some 
times  —  she  confessed  —  she  was  lonely  ;  and  often,  too, 
that  very  feeling  afforded  her  not  a  little  pleasure.  For 
during  such  hours  she  thought  most  of  herself  and  her 
griefs,  and  they  hallowed  themselves  afterwards  in  her 
memory. 

"  I  think,  after  all,"  said  her  landlady,  "  that  you  will 
enjoy  a  great  deal  more  this  coming  summer  in  the  coun 
try.  I  was  brought  up  in  the  country  myself;  and  I 
could  wish  for  nothing  pleasanter  than  to  get  back  again, 
I  assure  you." 

"  I  promise  myself  much  happiness  there,"  replied 
Amy.  "  Yet  I  hardly  know  why  I  do,  either.  I  have 
never  lived  much  in  the  country,  and  know  but  little  of 
the  ways  of  such  a  life.  But  I  sit  here  lately,  and  dream 
about  it  all ;  and  I  sketch  such  delightful  pictures  before 
my  very  eyes,  I  sometimes  look  around  the  room  to  see 
if  they  are  not  real.  O,  yes,  but  I  am  very  sure  I  shall 
enjoy  such  sweet  peace  and  quietude  there." 

"And  perhaps  you  will  not  want  ever  to  come  back 
again.  But  we  shall  miss  you  bad  enough  here,  I  can 
tell  you.  Your  room  will  be  a  lonely  place  to  come  into, 
I  reckon.  I  hope,  really,  that  you'll  write  me  from  where 
you  are,  after  you  get  settled  a  little." 

Amy  assured  her  that  she  would,  and  added  that  none 
of  the  kindness  shown  her  by  Mrs.  Dozy,  or  shown  her 
father,  either,  would  ever  be  forgotten. 

"It's  such   a  hard  thing  to   lose  a  good,  boarder," 


46  AMY   LEE. 

exclaimed  Mrs.  Dozy,  wiping  her  eyes  as  she  went  out 
of  the  room  a  few  minutes  later.  "  I've  never  yet  made 
a  friend  that  I  really  like,  but  something  has  come  in  of 
a  sudden  to  separate  us." 

Yes,  Mrs.  Dozy;  that  is  the  way  things  always  go  in 
this  world. 


CHAPTER  V. 

A  JOTJRNEY  ALONE. 

AT  last  the  day  was  at  hand  that  was  to  begin  Amy's 
changed  life.  It  was  a  beautiful  morning,  and  the  balm- 
mess  of  May  was  diffusing  itself  over  all  nature.  Even 
the  choked  and  narrow  town  streets  could  not  refuse  to 
acknowledge  by  their  pleasanter  look  the  great  change 
that  was  working  with  such  magic  every  where.  Children 
went  gayly  trooping  along,  early  as  it  was,  singing  the 
songs  of  gladness  that  would  not  be  pent  in  their  hearts. 
Men  met  one  another  with  broader  and  warmer  smiles, 
and  spake  in  more  flowing  and  harmonious  voices.  It 
might  be  an  illusion  of  the  eye,  or  the  ear,  that  produced 
this  effect ;  but  it  was  so  pleasing  an  illusion  that  one 
would  much  rather  hug  it  to  his  heart  than  not ;  nay,  he 
would  wish  that  it  might  last  through  the  passage  of  the 
whole  year. 

Amy  had  arisen  quite  early  on  this  morning,  that  noth 
ing  might  be  left  undone,  and  that  there  might  be  no  need 
of  confusion  and  haste.  Attired  in  a  proper  habit  for 
travelling,  she  sat  down  to  the  breakfast  table  all  ready 
for  a  start,  kind  Mrs.  Dozy  and  her  few  other  boarders 

(47) 


48  AMY   LEE. 

talking  as  fast  as  they  could.  She  essayed  the  needless 
task  of  answering  their  questions  all  at  once,  and  of 
swallowing  hurriedly  her  breakfast  too. 

The  day  before  had  been  employed  in  visiting  her  old 
pupils,  and  in  packing  her  clothes.  It  was  a  busy  time, 
indeed.  Her  rooms  were  littered  with  every  variety  of 
articles,  and  she  went  down  upon  her  knees  repeatedly 
to  stuff  something  into  a  trunk  that  was  plethoric  al 
ready,  and  really  needed  nothing  more  to  make  its  con 
tents  complete.  Some  things,  like  articles  of  furniture, 
—  and  a  well-used  old  piano  among  the  rest,  —  she  was 
obliged  to  leave  with  her  landlady  ;  if  she  should  ever 
return  again  to  Boston  to  live,  she  would  find  them  all 
safely  kept  for  her ;  or  if  not,  then  she  could  seither  di  3- 
pose  of  them  by  sale,  or  send  for  them  at  her  new  place 
of  residence. 

"I  hope  you'll  have  a  pleasant  journey,"  said  a  kind 
elderly  lady,  who  formed  one  of  Mrs.  Dozy's  circle  of 
boarders.  "  It's  a  long  way  for  you,  after  all." 

"  Dear  me,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Dozy  herself,  "  so  'tis  ; 
so  'tis.  I  hope  nothing  at  all  will  happen  to  you  on  the 
way.  And  you'll  be  so  tired,  too,  when  you  get  there." 

"I  expect  to  reach  the  place  by  night,"  said  Amy, 
fixing  her  bonnet  to  put  it  on  her  head. 

"You  do,"  exclaimed  one  of  the  boarders.  "Why, 
how  far  is  it  ?  " 

"  About  a  hundred  and  twenty  or  thirty  miles,  I  should 
think." 


A    JOURNEY    ALONE.  49 

"And  do  the  cars  carry  you  all  the  way?"  asked 
Mrs.  Dozy. 

"  0,  no  ;  I  go  in  them  about  ninety  miles,  or  there 
abouts,  and  the  rest  of  the  way  in  the  stage  coach." 

"Then  you  ride  in  a  stage,  do  you? "  eagerly  returned 
the  elderly  lady  who  had  taken  so  much  interest  in  Amy's 
journey.  "  I  remember  something  of  staging  myself,  I 
guess.  That's  a  very  pleasant  way  to  travel,  I  think,  too  ; 
much  pleasanter  than  the  cars,  for  they  don't  give  you  a 
chance  to  see  a  bit  of  the  country.  And  there's  so  much 
real  sociability  in  the  stage,  too  ;  there's  nothing  like 
that  in  the  cars  ;  if  you  want  to  say  any  thing  in  them, 
you  have  got  to  holler  your  head  off,  almost,  before  you 
can  make  yourself  heard.  I  must  say  I  like  stage  riding 
best.  I  used  to  go  about  a  great  deal  in  stage  coaches, 
when  I  was  younger  than  I  am  now." 

And  naturally  enough,  in  being  transported  to  those 
halcyon  days  again,  the  old  lady  let  her  eyes  fall  from  the 
table  to  the  floor,  and  there  they  rested  for  several  minutes 
while  she  enjoyed  the  silent  contemplation  of  the  times 
that  would  never  come  back. 

"  Why,  you  don't  eat  any  thing  !  "  said  Mrs.  Dozy  to 
Amy.  "  Do  you  think  you  are  going  to  take  such  a  long 
ride  without  any  thing  more  than  this  on  your  stomach  ? 
Come  ;  do  try  and  swallow  some  breakfast.  Let  me  pour 
you  out  another  cup  of  coffee.  Yes,  I  shall  insist  on 
your  drinking  another  cup,  whether  you  can  or  no.tl 
5 


60  AMY     LEE. 

There,  now  do  try  and  eat  enough  to  keep  you  from  faint 
ing  away." 

Amy  thanked  her  landlady  over  and  over ;  she  would 
take  all  the  nourishment  she  needed,  but  that  would  be 
but  little.  Alas  !  her  heart  could  not  —  could  not  in  a 
single  moment  throw  off  the  recollections  of  her  life  in 
that  house,  with  her  father's  presence  continually  color 
ing  and  shaping  that  life,  and  his  words  and  looks  speak 
ing  through  all.  Nature  would  have  its  own  power  still ; 
and  even  when  most  buoyant  and  elastic  with  hope,  grief 
would  insist  on  throwing  down  the  shadow  of  its  cloud. 

Mrs.  Dozy,  seeing,  therefore,  that  she  ate  but  little  at 
the  table,  commenced  putting  away  sweet  cakes  and 
crackers  in  her  travelling  bag. 

"  You'll  be  faint,"  said  she,  "  and  I  know  it  as  well  as 
I  want  to.  So  I've  put  up  a  few  little,  things  for  you  to 
bite,  when  you  feel  like  it ;  and  I  charge  you  not  to  for 
get  to  do  it,  just  as  soon  as  you  get  hungry." 

It  was  one  of  the  most  feeling  hearts,  that  her  landlady 
had.  She  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  Amy's  going 
away  unprovided  for  any,  the  smallest  emergency.  In 
truth,  —  as  she  expressed  it  herself,  —  it  made  her  really 
heartsick  that  she  should  go  at  all.  But  as  there  might 
be  some  necessity  for  this,  she  was  the  more  willing  to 
part  with  her  now. 

Mrs.  Dozy  loved  Amy,  too,  as  she  would  have  loved  a 
daughter.  There  were  few  things  she  would  not  have 
exerted  herself  greatly  to  perform  for  her.  And  so  did 


A.    JOURNEY    ALONE.  51 

all  the  rest  love  her.  She  was  encircled  with  their  affec 
tion,  and  grew  daily  deeper  and  deeper  into  their  hearts. 
They  all  knew  her  devotion  to  her  father,  and  what  trials 
Her  obedience  had  carried  her  cheerfully  through.  They 
were  familiar  with  her  kind  and  loving  ways,  with  her 
thoughtfulness  of  speech  for  others,  with  her  perfect  free 
dom  from  pride,  or  envy,  or  malice,  and  with  her  perpetual 
purity  of  heart.  And  how  could  they  do  less  than  receive 
her  into  the  open  arms  of  their  affectionate  esteem  ? 

All  were  through  with  breakfast,  and  Amy  was  ready 
to  start.  The  trunks  were  packed,  and  her  dress  fairly 
adjusted.  Nothing  remained  but  to  bid  them  all  fare 
well,  and  step  into  the  carriage  when  it  came. 

And  at  length  there  was  a  loud  ring  at  the  door,  and 
that  was  announced.  "  Cars  will  go  in  very  few  minutes ! 
Mustn't  wait  a  half  a  minute  ! "  called  out  the  driver. 
And  then  followed  a  great  bustle. 

"  Dear  me,"  cried  Mrs.  Dozy  ;  "  dear  me  !  Why  don't 
these  drivers  take  more  time  when  they  come  after  any 
body,  and  not  hurry  so  ?  "  And  she  ran  hither  and  thither 
around  the  room,  in  pursuit  of  she  knew  not  what,  pulling 
at  every  body's  arm  but  the  one  she  was  after,  brushing 
away  a  falling  tear  with  her  checked  apron,  talking  all 
the  time  to  one  and  another,  and  telling  the  driver  where 
to  find  the  luggage,  and  to  be  very  careful  of  the  indi 
vidual  he  was  going  to  set  agoing  that  morning  on  her 
journey.  Poor  woman  !  she  hardly  knew  what  she  was 
about,  in  the  confusion  and  perplexity  of  her  feelings. 


62  AMY   LEE. 

But  at  last  it  came  her  turn  to  take  Amy  by  the  hand ; 
which  she  did  with  a  quivering  lip  and  a  moistened  eye. 
Amy  kissed  her  affectionately ;  and  she  melted  then  in 
tears.  She  hoped  to  see  her  soon  again,  and  left  her 
silent  and  weeping.  There  was  not  one  who  did  not  feel 
saddened  at  this  parting. 

"  All  ready  !  "  called  the  driver  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

"  Yes  —  yes  ;  go  —  go  !  "  said  Mrs.  Dozy,  following  her 
along  and  holding  on  by  her  hand. 

Amy  said  another  parting  word,  not  omitting  the  ser 
vant  girl  in  her  way,  and  ran  down  the  stairs.  You  would 
have  thought,  had  you  not  seen  her  face,  that  she  was 
going  gayly  away  from  the  place,  so  lightly  did  she  run 
down  the  stairs.  But  it  was  a  forced  and  constrained 
manner,  which  she  put  on  to  help  carry  off  the  unpleasant 
impression  of  the  moment.  The  driver  helped  her  in, 
slammed  to  the  door,  sprang  to  the  box,  and  drove  off  his 
horses  at  a  rapid  rate.  Amy  thought  she  had  never 
turned  corners  faster,  or  rattled  by  the  houses  more 
swiftly.  She  was  in  a  tumult  of  excitement,  however ; 
and  this  rapid  motion  agreed  quite  well  with  her  mood. 
She  secretly  wished  she  might  be  whirled  along  at  this 
rate  until  the  mood  should  work  itself  off. 

There  was  only  a  minute  or  two  left  for  her  after 
reaching  the  depot,  which  she  required  the  whole  of  to 
purchase  her  ticket,  pay  the  hackman,  and  give  directions 
about  her  baggage.  And  no  sooner  had  she  been  helped 
on  the  cars,  than  away  they  went  in  turn,  carrying  her 


A   JOUKNEY  ALONE.  63 

off  in  an  instant  towards  the  green  heart  of  the  great 
country. 

Well  was  it  that  it  was  so,  too.  Had  she  had  time 
before  leaving  to  sit  and  brood  over  the  separation  she 
had  that  morning  undergone,  it  would  have  tinged  her 
feelings  with  a  deep  shade  of  melancholy  that  she  might 
not  have  rid  herself  of  for  the  whole  day.  As  it  was, 
her  excitement  was  still  fed  by  the  rattling  of  the  train, 
and  suffered  only  by  degrees  to  subside  into  a  state  of 
comparative  calm. 

Away  they  went  over  the  open  country,  as  if  they  were 
chasing  the  wind.  A  few  quick  puffs  from  the  engine, 
and  they  seemed  to  take  wings.  The  wheels  rolled  over 
the  rails  like  the  sound  of  clattering  thunder.  Swiftly 
flew  by  the  houses,  and  swiftly  the  fences.  You  saw  an 
object  a  moment  in  the  distance,  and  the  next  moment  it 
was  behind  you.  The  trees  went  by  like  running  men. 
Off  in  the  distant  fields  cattle  were  racing,  as  if  they 
hardly  yet  knew  in  which  direction  to  escape  the  dark  and 
rattling  train  that  was  coming  with  its  sound  of  thunder. 

The  motion  to  Amy  was  indeed  exhilarating.  In  her 
present  mood  of  mind$  it  seemed  just  what  she  most 
needed.  There  was  that  perpetual  noise  and  clatter,  too, 
connected  with  it,  that  added  still  more  to  her  physical 
excitement.  It  acted  like  a  pleasant  stimulant,  than 
which  perhaps  not  a  better  could  have  been  prescribed  for 
her.  She  opened  the  window  beside  her,  and  regaled 
herself  with  the  fresh  air  of  the  morning. 
5* 


54  AJfY   LEE. 

In  the  car  were  many  passengers,  but  she  knew  not 
one.  She  was  travelling  alone.  No  one  sat  on  the  seat 
with  her,  though  several  had  looked  at  it  as  they  passed 
to  find  one,  as  if  it  might  be  a  very  pleasant  place  for 
companionship.  She  sat  and  studied  such  faces  as  offered 
themselves  to  her  eyes,  or  looked  musingly  out  the  win 
dow  over  the  changing  landscape. 

All  the  while  her  thoughts  were  actively  employed. 
There  was  Boston,  and  that  dear  old  street,  and  house, 
and  chamber ;  there  was  the  memory  of  her  life  so  many 
years  with  her  father  —  that  father  now  lost  to  her  for 
ever  ;  there  were  her  old  pupils  still,  thinking  perhaps  of 
their  parting  with  her,  and  perhaps  hoping  that  before 
long  she  would  return. 

It  was  quite  noon  when  she  alighted'  at  the  far-off  town 
where  she  was  to  take  passage  in  the  stage  coach.  Before 
she  could  well  look  round  and  ascertain  if  her  baggage 
was  deposited  safely  on  the  platform,  the  train  had  whizzed 
off"  again,  and  was  already  nothing  but  a  dark  streak  in 
motion  in  the  distance. 

Then  there  was  time  to  procure  dinner  at  the  quiet 
little  hotel  close  by,  from  which  the  stage  would  start 
directly  after.  A  man  stepped  on  the  platform  near  her, 
and  looking  at  her  trunks,  asked  if  she  was  to  go  in  the 
coach. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  "  I  wish  to  go  to  Valley  Vil 
lage." 

"  Ah,  then  you'll  go  in  my  coach,"  said  he.     "  These 


A  JOTJBNEY  ALONE.  55 

your  trunks,  ma'am?  You  can  step  right  over  here  to 
the  hotel,  if  you  like,  and  get  dinner." 

Amy  thanked  him,  and  accepted  his  escort  to  the  door 
of  the  public  house.  The  door  was  open.  She  crossed 
the  spacious  piazza,  and  went  in.  Her  appetite,  on  sit 
ting  down  again  in  the  little  parlor  of  the  house,  hardly 
invited  her,  she  thought,  to  the  public  table ;  so  she  took 
some  of  Mrs.  Dozy's  contributions  from  the  travelling 
bag  on  her  arm,  and  commenced  fortifying  her  stomach 
against  the  jolting  ride  that  was  still  before  her. 

A  woman  came  in,  and  asked  her  if  she  would  not  like 
dinner ;  but  Amy  declined  her  offer.  She  wished  only  a 
glass  of  water,  for  which  she  would  be  thankful. 

Amy  had  some  little  time  there,  which  she  devoted  to 
a  hurried  review  of  what  had  recently  passed,  and  to  a 
hasty  sketch  of  the  future.  She  leaned  her  head  on  her 
hand,  and  looked  out  the  window.  People  passed,  but 
she  hardly  saw  them.  Her  thoughts  were  abstracted 
about  herself,  her  prospects,  her  sad  past.  Yet  not  alto 
gether  mournful  were  they  —  never  dokpondent,  however 
sorrowful. 

There  she  sat  and  mapped  out  tJie  coming  summer. 
Would  Heaven  make  it  as  pleasant  as  she  had  thus  pic 
tured  it,  or  was  her  sky  to  be  overcast  and  gloomy  ? 
Would  not  the  song  of  the  birds,  the  babble  of  the  brooks, 
the  blowing  rustle  of  the  leaves,  the  outflowing  of  the  free 
sunshine  every  where  over  heaven,  bring  welcome  joy  to 
her  heart  every  day  she  dwelt  among  these  delightful 


56  AMY   LEE. 

scenes?  Could  grief  canker  even  amid  Nature's  great 
bounteousness  ?  Would  there  be  room  for  regrets  to 
enter  in,  and  take  forcible  possession  ?  Here,  in  the  heart 
of  this  serenity,  would  there  not  rather  be  every  thing  to 
drive  away  unhappy  feelings,  and  make  the  whole  soul 
glad? 

The  leisure  was  consumed  by  her  in  this  mood,  sitting 
thus  alone  in  the  public  room.  Perhaps  some  day  these 
thoughts  of  hers  in  this  very  spot  would  hallow  the  place 
with  their  almost  sacred  associations,  and  make  the  very 
furniture  of  the  room  seem  beautiful  as  that  of  a  dream. 

"  Stage's  all  ready  ! "  was  the  shout  from  without,  as 
she  caught  the  rattle  of  wheels  before  the  piazza.  And 
looking  out  the  window,  there  she  saw  a  bright  yellow 
coach,  with  four  prancing  horses,  and  her  own  two  trunks 
strapped  tightly  on  behind. 

"  This  is  the  last  change,"  she  thought,  half  aloud.  "  I 
shall  have  no  more  to  make  at  present." 

At  that  moment  the  door  opened,  and  the  landlord 
put  in  his  head  to  announce  that  it  was  time  for  her  to 
start. 

Amy  bowed,  and  followed  him  out. 

The  landlord  assisted  her  in,  and  shut  the  door.  The 
iron  step  fell  back  in  its  place  with  a  slam. 

"There,  you  get  up,  Henry,"  said  a  female  within, 
"  and  sit  on  the  forward  seat." 

"  O,  no,  thank  you,"  returned  Amy,  seeing  that  the 
woman  was  thoughtfully  making  room  for  her  beside 


A   JOUENET  ALONE.  57 

herself  on  the  back  seat.  "I  can  ride  just  as  well 
here." 

At  any  rate,  the  woman's  son  —  a  lad  perhaps  of  thir 
teen  years — left  his  place  by  the  side  of  his  mother,  and 
settled  himself  with  his  back  to  the  horses.  And  Amy, 
seeing  what  had  been  done  in  spite  of  her  protestation, 
stepped  over  and  sat  down  in  the  corner  by  the  female 
who  had  shown  such  thorough  politeness. 

The  driver  smacked  his  long  whip,  and  away  they  rattled 
at  a  famous  rate.  He  had  got  on  the  mail  bags,  and  there 
was  nothing  more  now  for  him  to  stop  for.  He  had  not 
another  passenger  to  take  up,  either ;  these  three  were  all. 

"  It's  delightful  weather,"  oflered  the  lady  who  sat  by 
the  side  of  Amy. 

"  Delightful  indeed,"  returned  Amy. 

"  I  didn't  dare  to  hope  for  the  opening  of  spring  quite 
so  early  as  this ;  but  it  seems  to  have  come  upon  us  like 
a  bright  smile.  I  declare,  this  weather  is  really  enjoya 
ble.  It  makes  one's  heart  grow  warm"  And  she  looked 
round  in  the  face  of  Amy  with  an  expression  of  so  much 
kindliness  and  sympathy,  that  the  latter  felt  in  an  instant 
she  had  found  a  natural  and  hearty  friend. 

The  lady  seemed  to  be  not  yet  forty,  and  had  a  face  of 
an  extremely  sweet  cast,  fresh  and  confiding.  If  a  coun 
tenance  is  ever  an  index  of  the  heart,  her  heart  must  have 
been  entirely  free  from  the  canker  of  unhappiness.  And 
she  went  about  her  proffered  civilities  and  companionships 
in  such  a  delightfully  frank  and  easy  way,  Amy  was  won 


58  AMY   LEE. 

over  to  her  before  she  even  knew  what  had  been  accom 
plished. 

She  was  dressed  in  a  suit  of  mourning,  as  was  Amy 
likewise.  It  was  a  very  plain  and  inexpensive  habit, 
however,  betraying  perhaps  a  slender  purse,  yet  a  not  un 
cultivated  taste.  She  wore  a  shawl  about  her  shoulders, 
which  was  fastened  under  her  chin  by  a  very  neat  mourn 
ing  pin ;  and  her  bonnet  was  lined  before  with  the  whitest 
and  finest  tabs  one  ever  sees.  Amy  was  struck  with  her 
looks  immediately ;  and  as  soon  as  she  began  to  enter  into 
conversation  with  her,  she  saw  that  the  woman  was  indeed 
worthy  of  her  confidence.  And  accordingly,  in  a  very 
little  time,  there  sprang  up  an  intimacy  between  them  that 
offered  Amy  a  most  agreeable  and  grateful  solace  for  her 
sadness  of  the  morning. 

The  coach  rolled  along.  It  took  them  off  through  open 
fields,  winding  away  over  the  narrow  country  roads,  that 
were  hedged  in  on  both  sides  by  mossy  stones  and  split 
rail  fences,  climbing  up  steep  hills,  whose  tops  were 
crowned  with  the  growth  of  trees  and  shrubs,  rattling 
down  with  an  echoing  noise  through  little  hollows  and 
moist-smelling  dells,  through  which  released  brooks  were 
roaring,  and  shooting  oft7  again  over  the  level  country  with 
a  clatter  that  made  all  merry,  both  inside  and  out. 

As  the  stranger  had  told  Amy,  it  was  indeed  a  beauti 
ful  day  ;  and  a  most  delightful  time  was  it,  too,  for  a  ride 
through  the  country  in  a  stage  coach.  The  air  was  fresh 
with  the  reviving  breezes  of  early  spring.  They  had  let 


A   JOUENET   ALONE.  69 

down  the  coach  windows,  so  that  it  could  drift  in  and  out 
with  every  swaying  motion  of  the  vehicle.  Amy  felt  it  on 
her  forehead,  and  was  grateful.  It  seemed  in  some  mys 
terious  way  to  revive  her  heart,  as  if  a  pleasant  dew  were 
gently  distilled  upon  it. 

And  riding  along,  they  chatted  easily  on  this  thing  and 
that,  —  the  weather,  the  past  winter,  riding  in  cars  and 
coaches,  living  in  town  and  country,  and  such  matters  as* 
these,  —  till  each  seemed  altogether  taken  up  with  the 
other,  and  expressed  her  sympathy  in  every  look  of  the 
countenance  and  every  word  that  was  spoken.  It  was 
such  a  pleasant  interchange  of  feeling  as  thoroughly  re 
freshed  and  delighted  the  orphan.  She  was  led  to  forget 
for  the  moment  the  old  poignancy  of  her  griefs,  and  to 
look  about  and  above  her  to  the  contemplation  of  living 
objects  and  living  thoughts.  Other  lights  burst  in  upon 
her  soul,  and  opened  new  sources  of  present  joy.  The 
old  dreams  and  momentary  visions  began  to  show  signs  of 
reality. 

"  May  I  ask  how  far  you  are  travelling  ? "  inquired  the 
stranger  of  Amy. 

"  As  far  as  Valley  Village,"  answered  the  latter. 

"  Is  that  all  ?     Why,  I  am  going  right  there  myself." 

The  woman  betrayed  not  a  little  pleasant  surprise,  as 
Amy  did  also. 

"  I  happen  tq  live  in  Valley  Village,"  continued  the 
stranger.    "  It  has  been  our  home  for  a  good  many  years." 

Amy  was  interested.     It  offered  an  excellent  opportu- 


60  AMY   LEE. 

nity  for  inquiring  about  the  locality  where  she  was  going, 
and  of  learning  in  advance  respecting  the  probabilities  of 
success  in  her  new  vocation  there. 

"  Have  you  any  friends  there  ?  "  asked  the  woman. 

"  Not  one,"  answered  Amy  ;  "  unless  I  may  be  allowed 
to  call  you  one,"  she  added,  with  great  candor. 

They  exchanged  a  quick  glance  —  Amy's  was  one  of 
smiling  pleasantness,  and  the  stranger's  of  pure  sympathy ; 
and  that  glance  sealed  their  friendship  permanently. 

"  I  am  going  out  there,"  Amy  went  on,  rather  after  the 
manner  of  a  confession,  "  to  pass  the  summer.  It  is  my 
wish  to  get  together  scholars  enough  to  open  a  little 
school.  I  am  accustomed  to  teach  the  young,  and  like 
the  occupation.  I  found  that  I  needed  change  of  scene, 
and  have  made  this  movement." 

The  woman  glanced  at  Amy's  mourning  habit,  and 
seemed  in  a  moment  to  comprehend  her. 

"What  encouragement  do  you  think  I  can  find  there?" 
Amy  asked,  a  little  eager  to  know  somewhat  about  her 
chances. 

"Very  good,  I  should  say;'  very  good,  just  now.  And 
I  am  happy  to  be  able  to  tell  you  so,  too.  There  hasn't 
been  a  summer  school  kept  at  the  village  for  two  years ; 
and  I  heard  some  of  our  people  speaking  of  the  matter 
only  a  few  weeks  ago,  wishing  they  could  find  the  right 
person  to  open  one.  How  fortunate  it  is  for  you  ! " 

"  But  are  there  many  children  there  who  go  to  school 
in  the  summers  ?  " 


A.    JOURNEY    ALONE.  61 

"  Yes,  quite  as  many  as  you  are  apt  to  find  in  places  of 
its  size.  There  aren't  as  many,  of  course,  as  thei-e  would  be 
in  a  larger  place.  It's  but  a  small  and  a  quiet  village,  at 
the  most ;  and  those  that  you  would  get  would  be  only 
such  as  wanted  to  learn  to  read,  and  sew,  and  do  such 
light  labor  as  that.  It  won't  task  ycur  powers  at  all,  I  can 
tell  you,  except  perhaps  for  patience.  Any  body  wants 
that  quality,  you  know,  that  has  a;iy  thing  to  do  with 
children  —  especially  young  children." 

Then  Amy,  whose  heart  had  been  owning  to  this  woman 
every  moment,  finally  began  and  told  her  all  of  her  indi 
vidual  history  —  acquainting  her  with  her  mode  of  life 
for  several  years  past,  and  the  sudden  death  of  her  father, 
describing  her  lonely  feelings  in  that  place  where  they  had 
so  long  lived  together,  and  the  utter  impossibility  of  re 
maining  there  any  longer,  and  detailing  the  several  steps 
by  which  she  reached  finally  the  resolution  to  go  back 
into  some  quiet  retreat  in  the  country,  and  there  labor  and 
live  calmly  till  duty  should  call  her  away  again  in  another 
direction.  The  rehearsal  of  her  story  was  not  completed 
without  many  manifestations  of  emotion  on  the  part  of  the 
youthful  narrator,  which  in  turn  affected  her  travelling 
companion  very  visibly.  The  moisture  was  shining  in  her 
eyes  when  Amy  got  through  ;  and  she  tu/ned  her  face 
away  a  moment  to  enable  her  the  better  to  master  her 
feelings. 

"  You  haven't  any  boarding  place,  then  ?  "  at  length  she 
asked  Amy. 

6 


62  AMY   LEE. 

"  I  haven't  so  much  as  thought  of  it  yet.  But  I  sup 
pose  I  must  begin  to  very  soon.  Is  there  a  public  house 
in  the  village  r  " 

"  Yes,  but  hardly  such  a  one  as  you  would  find  it  pleas 
ant  to  stay  at.  Some  of  the  time  it's  open,  and  some  of 
the  time  there's  no  one  about.  We  hardly  say,  in  truth, 
that  we  have  a  public  house." 

Amy  sat  a  moment,  and  pondered  upon*t. 

Her  new  friend  ventured  to  interrupt  her  train  of 
thought :  — 

"  If  you'd  as  lief,  I'm  sure  you  would  be  welcome  to 
stay  with  me  until  you  can  look  about  for  yourself  a  little. 
I'm  keeping  house  alone,  with  nobody  but  my  son  Henry 
here,"  nodding  in  the  direction  of  the  boy  on  the  front 
seat. 

"  I  thank  you  very  much  —  very  much,"  responded 
Amy,  her  countenance  all  the  while  expressing  more  grat 
itude  than  her  words.  "  I  certainly  should  be  glad  to 
accept  your  offer,  and  hope  we  may  become  such  good 
friends  that  neither  will  wish  a  separation  at  all.  Shall  I 
go  home  with  you  to-night  ?  " 

"  Certainly  —  certainly,"  was  the  ready  answer. 

And  at  twilight  the  coach  rattled  through  the  street  of 
the  little  village,  which  Amy  could  see  was  cozily  dropped 
down  in  the  hollow  of  two  high  hills,  and  all  three  drew 
up  before  the  door  of  a  pretty  little  house  of  a  story  and 
a  half. 

"  This  is  my  nest,"  remarked  the  lady,  leading  the  way 


A.   JOURNEY   ALONE.  63 

in,   after   giving   directions  to  have  the  trunks  brought 
along  after. 

And  Amy  went  in  with  a  grateful  heart,  and  on  her 
knees  that  night  thanked  God  that  he  had  provided  for 
her  so  abundantly  in  his  loving  kindness. 


CHAPTER  VI. 
MRS.  GUMMEL. 

WHEN  she  awoke  the  next  morning,  she  found  her 
self  comfortably  quartered  in  a  snug  chamber,  rather  low, 
to  be  sure,  in  respect  to  its  ceiling,  with  two  windows,  a 
pretty  carpet  stretched  over  the  floor,  and  three  or  four 
chairs  ranged  about  against  the  wall.  There  stood  like 
wise  an  ample  bureau  beneath  the  looking  glass,  with 
drawers  enough  to  hold  all  she  wished  to  put  in  them. 
And  a  door  in  the  farther  corner  opened  into  a  convenient 
closet,  where  were  pegs  and  nails  to  hang  her  dresses  on, 
and  a  couple  of  shelves  on  which  to  lay  away  what  she 
wished.  She  surveyed  all  these  particulars  of  the  new 
home  she  had  found  with  a  great  deal  of  pleasure,  think 
ing  how  opportunely  every  thing  seemed  to  have  hap 
pened. 

As  soon  as  she  was  dressed,  she  threw  herself  on  her 
knees,  and  offered  a  prayer  of  thankfulness ;  and  with 
increasing  gratitude  she  besought  a  larger  measure  of  faith, 
that  she  might  resign  herself  more  entirely  into  the  keep 
ing  of  her  Maker.  She  prayed  with  her  whole  soul ;  not 
a  thought,  not  a  wish,  not  an  aspiration,  not  the  faintest 

(64) 


MES.    GTJMMEL.  65 

desire,  that  did  not  seek  God  in  counsel,  asking  for  more 
trust,  beseeching  for  a  growth  of  purity  and  love,  pleading 
for  fresh  visitations  of  grace,  that  would  keep  the  life  new 
and  young  every  day,  and  make  it  abound  in  innocency 
forever. 

She  put  aside  the  curtain  to  one  of  her  low  windows, 
and  looked  out.  She  could  not  have  denied  that  it  was 
almost  with  a  fast-beating  heart  that  she  ventured  upon 
this  first  look,  for  she  anxiously  hoped  to  find  every  object 
in  harmony  with  her  own  happy  thoughts. 

It-  was  a  bright  morning  again,  fully  as  fair  and  prom 
ising  as  that  of  yesterday.  She  ran  her  eyes  up  and  down 
the  street  as  far  as  she  could,  to  espy  the  appearance  of 
the  dwellings,  and  catch  the  rural  associations  generally 
supposed  to  cluster  about  such  quiet  country  places. 
There  were  but  few  door  yards,  a  green  lawn  forming  a 
common  carpet  for  the  feet  of  all  the  passers  and  dwellers 
alike,  over  whose  rolling  surface  she  detected  already  the 
shooting  grass,  tinting  it  in  spots  with  the  most  delicate 
light  shades.  The  houses  were  rather  s'mall,  although 
some  of  them  were  fully  two  stories  in  height,  and  painted 
white.  Some  of  them  offered  additional  attractions  in  the 
way  of  green  blinds,  and  climbing  vines  at  the  doors  and 
windows.  Before  them  all,  and  seeming  to  run  in  a  double 
row  for  the  length  of  the  street,  were  wide-spreading  rock 
maples,  whose  sprays  were  already  beginning  to  moisten 
and  swell,  and  from  which  it  would  be  but  a  little  while 
6* 


66  AMY    LEE. 

before  the  tender  leaves  would  spring  in  all  their  bewil 
dering  greenness. 

Amy  liked  the  place  at  once.  It  seemed  just  such  a 
one  as  she  had  often  sketched  in  her  fruitful  imagination, 
where  she  longed  to  live  her  years  out  in  peaceful  quie 
tude,  and  finally  to  go  to  her  rest  beloved  and  mourned 
for  by  all.  And  while  she  stood  there  at  her  little  window 
looking  out,  and  thinking,  too,  of  these  wishes  that  her 
heart  had  cherished  in  silence  so  long,  she  heard  a  light 
tap  on  her  door,  and  presently  saw  that  some  one  was 
slowly  opening  it.  Knowing  very  well  who  it  must  be, 
she  called  to  her  visitor  to  come  in. 

Immediately  her  friend  of  the  stage  coach  accosted  her. 
Such  a  happy  smile  !  Amy  asked  herself,  as  its  light 
beamed  over  her,  if  such  were  born  out  of  the  dew  and 
innocence  of  this  rural  life.. 

"Good  morning!"  saluted  Mrs.  Gummel,  —  for  that 
was  the  appellation  of  Amy's  friend;  "I  hope  you  got 
a  good  night's  rest  last  night.  How  do  you  feel  this 
morning?" 

"  0,  never  so  well ;  as  happy  as  I  can  be,  and  as  grate 
ful,"  answered  Amy.  And  while  she  replied  to  her,  she 
advanced  and  pressed  Mrs.  Gummel's  hand,  and  kissed  her 
affectionately. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  other,  "  I  am  glad  enough  to 
hear  it.  It  was  rather  a  long  jaunt  for  you  yesterday,  I 
confess;  but  there's  nothing  better  for  it  than  a  good 
night's  rest.  And  I'm  glad  enough  you  got4t." 


MBS.   GXTMMEL.  67 

"One  must  be  very  restless,"  said  Amy,  "if  she 
couldn't  sleep  in  your  nice  beds.  I  declare,  as  soon  as  I 
laid  my  head  on  my  pillow,  I  sank  down  into  utter  uncon 
sciousness  ;  and  I  knew  nothing  more,  except  in  my  scat 
tered  dreams,  until  I  found  myself  awake  this  morning. 
What  a  pleasant 'morning  it  is !  What  a  sweet  little  street 
this  is  here !  How  pretty  every  thing  looks  to  me  !  O,  I 
know  I  shall  be  so  delighted  to  stay  !  It  seems  to  me, 
that  if  I  had  travelled  all  New  England  over,  I  could  not 
have  found  such  a  retreat  as  this  is." 

Mrs.  Gummel  smiled  at  Amy's  enthusiasm,  and  said  she 
was  rejoiced  to  find  her  first  impressions  such  favorable 
ones.  "  But,"  she  added,  "  you  must  needs  take  a  ramble 
or  two  over  the  village,  and  go  up  on  the  hill  that  over 
looks  the  whole  of  it,  before  you  can  get  an  exact  idea. 
I  hope  you  will  like  it  then ;  and  I  think,  too,  that  you 
will." 

"  If  what  I  can  see  from  this  window  is  a  sample 
of  the  whole,"  was  the  reply,  "  indeed  I  shall  have  little 
cause  to  gratify  my  curiosity  by  going  farther.  But  I 
shall  surely  take  the  ramble  you  speak  of,  if  only  to  enjoy 
the  scenery.  I  am  very  partial  to  beautiful  scenery  ;  and 
then,  too,  things  wear  so  much  pleasanter  an  aspect  in 
the  spring,  when  the  world  begins  to  put  on  its  brightest 
robe.  O,  you  don't  know  how  much  enjoyment  I  have . 
already  promised  myself  here,  just  standing  and  looking 
out  this  window." 

Mrs.  Gummel  smiled  again. 


68  AMY    LEE. 

"  I  hope,  dear  soul,"  said  she,  tenderly,  "  you  won't  be 
the  least  disappointed  in  any  way." 

"  That  is  hardly  possible,  either,"  returned  Amy.  "  For 
the  truth  is,  if  one  does  but  look  within  for  his  enjoy 
ment,  it  will  never  fail  him.  I  try  to  be  thankful,  and 
always  glad.  I  seek  to  color  every  little  object  that  is 
thrown  in  my  way  with  the  hues  of  .my  own  feelings.  I 
try  to  behold  God  in  all  things ;  not  less  in  my  own  afflic 
tions,  which  I  know  to  be  for  my  good,  than  in  my  pleas 
ures,  and  labors,  and  friends.  And  if  I  look  inward  in 
this  way,  drawing  all  my  happiness  from  the  living  foun 
tain  that  gets  its  supply  from  him,  I  never  need  fear  lest 
true  enjoyment  may  fail  me." 

Mrs.  Gummel  appeared  deeply  interested,  listening  with 
a  highly  intent  look,  and  assenting  continually  with  re 
peated  inclinations  of  her  head. 

"I  have  always  thought,"  Amy  went  on,  "that  the 
quiet  of  rural  life  was  far  more  favorable  to  the  growth  of 
these  better  and  deeper  feelings  of  the  soul  than  the  jar 
of  life  in  the  city ;  for  here  you  seem  to  have  abundant 
time  to  possess  yourself  in  all  due  patience ;  here  are  per 
plexities,  to  be  sure,  and  interruptions,  as  there  must  be 
every  where,  yet  I  cannot  but  think,  that  as  there  is  here 
less  hurry  about  the  provisions  for  mere  physical  wants,  so 
there  must  be  more  calmness  and  room  for  the  develop 
ment  of  your  higher  nature  and  the  culture  of  your  purer 
thoughts.  I  think  one  ought  to  be  more  a  philosopher 
in  the  country,  more  a  Christian.  I  know  that  too  much 


MBS.    GUMMEL.  69 

solitude  cannot  be  good,  but  it  is  better  so  than  not  to 
enjoy  any.  It  must  be  the  ripest  and  the  richest  heart 
that  grows  in  the  silence  of  its  own  feeling." 

"  You  speak  exactly  my  own  thoughts  —  what  I  have 
known  to  be  true  this  long,  long  while,"  said  her  friend. 
"  But  it  is  so  very  strange  I  never  fall  in  with  people  who 
talk  as  you  do.  Why  don't  we  all  use  as  much  freedom 
of  speech  about  these  commonest  matters  ?  Why  don't  we, 
and  so  make  more  happiness  than  we  do  ? " 

"  Sure  enough.  But  isn't  it  simply  because  there  is  a 
lack  of  candor  among  us  all  ?  —  because  we  are  afraid  to 
speak  out  our  better  thoughts,  lest  others  may  think  us 
silly  and  weak  ?  In  other  words,  are  we  not  too  much 
afraid  of  one  another?  —  slaves  to  the  emptiest  prejudices 
and  whims  that  take  shape  in  human  brains  ?  —  fearers  of 
the  idle  tongues  that  will  be  active  because  there  is  no 
present  power  to  stop  them?  " 

"  It's  so  ;  it's  verily  so." 

"  Now,  suppose  we  threw  off  these  nightmares  from  our 
souls,  as  we  escape  from  the  dominion  of  our  unquiet 
dreams  with  the  coming  up  of  the  morning ;  suppose  we 
simply  say  to  ourselves,  at  the  rising  of  every  sun,  '  This 
day  I  will  lead  a  true  life  —  true  to  myself  and  to  others,' 
and  ask  God  to  help  us  in  our  resolution ; '  don't  you  think 
there  would  be  a  great  deal  more  of  deep  and  tender  feel 
ing  interchanged  between  us,  a  great  deal  more  real  pleas 
ure  ad,ded  to  our  lives,  and  a  great  deal  more  downright 
happiness  both  in  our  hearts  and  faces  ?  " 


70  AMT     LEE. 

"  By  all  means  I  do." 

9  "  The  truth  is,  all  we  want  is  simplicity.  There  is  no 
simplicity  where  there  is  no  trust ;  and  trust  is  the  child 
of  faith.  Then  what  we  are  to  seek  for  is  faith.  That 
comes,  not  by  setting  up  one's  self,  one's  own  will,  or 
desires,  or  ambition,  or  wish,  against  God ;  not  at  all ;  nor 
even  by  asking  God  to  help  us  increase  through  the  means 
of  our  own  will  and  ambition  ;  but  only  by  placing  our 
selves  wholly  and  entirely  in  his  hands,  and  praying,  day 
by  day  and  hour  by  hour,  *  Thy  will  be  done  as  it  is  done 
in  heaven.'  Is  not  that  the  very  first  condition  of  a  truly 
religious  heart,  Mrs.  Gummel  ?  " 

"None  other  can  be,  certainly,"  answered  the  other. 
14  But  how  often  do  I  feel,  when  I  think  of  these  things, 
that  as  much  faith  as  may  be  mine  now,  I  have  still  the 
more  need  to  say  continually,  '  Lord,  increase  my  faith ' !  " 

"  Truly,  truly ;  and  only  by  seeking  such  an  increase 
can  you  expect  to  possess  even  that  which  you  have  now. 
In  this  thing  there  is  no  standing  still ;  you  must  either 
go  forward  or  backward.  Unless  there  is  a  growth,  there 
is  certainly  a  falling  off." 

"  I  think  it  must  be  so." 

"  And  then  see  how  easy,  and  flowing,  and  truthful  life 
may  become  under  such  simple  conditions.  Only  see  how 
easily  these  abounding  riches  come  to  the  heart  by  putting 
off  what  is  presumptuous  and  proud,  and  clothing  your 
self  in  what  is  lowly  and  simple.  In  this  kingdom  there 
is  no  first,  except  that  he  who  is  last  is  first,  and  the  one 


MRS.    GUMMEL.  71 

•who  takes  of  himself  the  lowest  seat  is  immediately  called 
up  to  the  highest.  Envy  cannot  live  in  such  an  atmos 
phere  as  this,  nor  boastfulness,  nor  vanity,  nor  vain  glory 
ing.  It  is  a  condition  of  childishness  and  the  veriest 
innocency.  And  if  one  can  hut  enter  in  and  possess  this 
infinite  kingdom,  how  sweetly  may  even  the  roughest  lifo 
be  made  to  pass,  because  there  is  such  perfect  confidence 
in  the  care  of  the  common  Father.  We  may  know  that 
our  being  is  very  dear  to  him,  because  he  first  saw  fit  to 
give  it  to  us  out  of  his  own  infinite  wealth  and  abundance. 
But  I  do  not  mean  to  stand  here  at  this  time,  and  delay 
you  from  your  needful  occupation.  I  imagine  that  break 
fast  is  ready,  and  that  you  came  up  to  call  me." 

"  I  did,"  answered  Mrs.  Gummel ;  "  but  I  am  so  much 
interested  in  what  you  say,  that  I  have  not  once  thought 
of  breakfast,  or  that  it  was  every  minute  growing  cold.  I 
should  love  to  listen  to  you  for  an  hour.  But  I  think  you 
must  need  something  to  nourish  you.  So  let's  go  down, 
and  get  breakfast." 

And  away  they  went  down  the  short  flight  of  stairs, 
landing  in  the  snuggest  box  of  a  little  entry  that  Amy 
thought  she  had  ever  seen. 

Amy  really  did  not  think  how  much  she  had  been  say 
ing,  or  that  her  listener  was  no  other  than  a  comparative 
stranger.  It  was  the  most  unmistakable  proof  that  her 
faith  did  so  entirely  possess  her  heart,  that  she  was  as 
ready  at  one  time  as  another  to  give  out  the  feelings  in 
which  she  continually  lived.  "While  she  would  not  for 


I*-. 

72  AMY   LEE. 

any  ihing  have  been  either  mawkish  or  affected  in  her 
utterance,  she  would  none  the  less  have  been  guilty  of 
fear,  or  of  any  thing  that  looked  like  the  timid  study  of 
policy.  She  would  let  nature  speak  or  be  silent,  just  as 
it  felt  inclined.  Yet  she  was  made  much  too  happy  by 
her  own  secret  experiences  to  wish  to  keep  all  to  herself ; 
it  was  her  chief  delight  to  know  that  others  tasted  of  the 
cup  whose  rich  wine  warmed  her  own  heart  with  such 
untold  emotions.  So  abundant  is  the  wealth  that  this 
divine  faith  strews  all  around  the  path  of  its  possessor. 

Passing  into  the  room  where  the  breakfast  table  was 
laid,  she  discovered  a  pretty  domestic  scene  that  filled  her 
heart  with  its  beauty.  There  stood  the  table  in  the  mid 
dle  of  the  floor ;  before  the.  wood  fire  that  blazed  and 
crackled  on  the  hearth  was  an  arm  chair,  all  ready  for  her 
to  sit  dc  wn  in  for  a  minute,  while  she  warmed  the  shivers 
off  her  shoulders  ;  Mrs.  Gummel's  son  Henry  sat  on  the 
little  chintz-covered  lounge  opposite,  that  stood  against 
the  wall ;  the  carpet,  like  the  pleasant  fire  blaze,  was  at 
tractive  and  warm  in  its  shades ;  and  the  happy  fates  of 
both  mother  and  son  added  all  that  was  needed  to  make 
the  attractions  complete  and  the  sweet  picture  perfect. 

Amy  sat  down  to  the  table  with  a  heart  overflowing 
with  gratefulness.  Indeed,  if  her  countenance  did  not 
that  day  express  the  Jhqftyiest,  and  calmest,  and  serenest 
feelings,  it  was  guilty  of  belying  most  strangely  the  real 
condition  of  her  heart. 

The  coffee  was  nice  and  nourishing.  The  steaming 
. 

* 


MRS.    GUMMEL.  73 

decoction  of  the  morning  had  rarely  tasted  so  refreshing  to 
her  ;  and  she  inwardly  made  up  her  verdict,  without  hesi 
tation,  in  favor  of  the  skill  of  Mrs.  Gummel  in  cookery. 
And  she  ate  buckwheat  cakes,  too,  called  "flapjacks" 
thereabout  in  New  England,  pouring  over  them  that  most 
delicious  of  all  sirups,  the  maple  sirup,  with  which  the 
people  of  Vermont  are  so  well  acquainted.  The  butter 
was  good,  fresh,  country  butter,  put  on  the  table  in  a 
neatly-stamped  cake ;  and  it  did  her  city  eyes  good  just 
to  look  at  it. 

While  they  sat  at  the  table,  they  indulged  very  freely 
in  agreeable  chat,  for  which  topics  were  at  no  moment 
wanting.  Amy  was  full  of  questions  about  the  size  of  the 
place,  the  character  of  its  gathered  families,  the  names  of 
the  people,  and  the  scenes  there  were  to  be  got  from  one 
part  of  the  village  and  the  other  ;  and  Mrs.  Gummel  went 
into  almost  voluminous  explanations  of  every  object  about 
which  her  new  friend  inquired,  eager  to  have  her  begin 
her  life  of  enjoyment  at  Valley  Village  as  soon  as  she 
could. 

Henry,  too,  now  and  then  offered  such  interesting 
minutiae  of  information  as  only  boys  may  be  supposed  to 
possess  in  any  fulness,  and  appeared  exceedingly  glad  to 
be  able  to  communicate  all  he  knew  so  particularly.  So 
that  between  the  son  and  the  mother,  with  her  own  multi 
plying  questions  to  keep  one  or  the  other  almost  continu 
ally  engaged  in  answering  her,  and  her  breakfast  spread 
before  her  besides,  she  found  herself,  before  she  thought 
7 


74  AMY    LEE. 

of  it,  in  the  midst  of  one  of  the  most  enjoyable  moods  she 
ever  knew. 

And  long  after  the  morning  meal  was  over,  and  after 
Mrs.  Gummel  had  set  away  the  dishes,  too,  they  sat  there 
and  talked;  Amy  giving  rein  to  her  fresh  and  free  im 
pulses  till  her  friend  really  looked  upon  her  as  breathing 
almost  the  spirit  of  inspiration.  So  attractive  and  beauti 
ful  above  all  things  seems  the  atmosphere  of  purity  and 
love  that  encircles  the  humble  and  trusting  disciple. 

Mrs.  Gummel  was  more  and  more  pleased  with  the  yes 
terday's  good  fortune  that  had  thrown  Amy  in  her  way. 
She  felt  as  if  an  angel  of  peace  had  been  sent  to  her,  and 
had  even  now  come  to  abide  in  her  house.  Listening  to 
her  pure  sentiments,  she  saw  even  the  commonest  objects 
and  the  humblest  modes  of  life  become  hallowed.  Her 
fears,  diminutive  as  they  might  have  been  at  best,  slunk 
out  of  view  before  the  bright  shining  of  this  girl's  living 
and  glowing  faith.  She  could  not  but  ask  herself  con 
tinually,  "  Have  I  this  faith  ?  "  She  saw  how  it  filled 
with  courage,  with  joy,  with  innocency,  with  the  serenest 
peace ;  and  her  heart  hungered  yet  more  and  more  for  a 
possession  that  so  abundantly  enriched  and  exalted  those 
to  whom  it  was  given  of  Heaven. 


CHAPTER    VII. 
A  LOOK  AT  THE  VILLAGE. 

THAT  day  was  spent  in  unpacking  her  trunks  and  dis 
tributing  her  clothes  about  her  room  in  such  a  manner  as 
would  best  suit  her  convenience.  During  the  many  and 
protracted  conversations  of  the  morning  and  afternoon,  it 
was  arranged  between  Mrs-.  Gummel  and  Amy  that  the 
latter  should  stay  where  she  was  just  as  long  as  it  might 
prove  agreeable  to  her,  paying  for  her  board  what  Amy 
thought  a  very  trifling  amount,  but  what  her  new  friend 
insisted  repeatedly  was  more  than  a  full  equivalent. 

Amy,  while  alone  in  her  little  chamber,  could  not  help 
having  her  more  cheerful  moments  streaked  .  with  sad 
thoughts ;  for  memory  was  as  active  as  ever,  and  a  quick 
and  fruitful  imagination  would  persist  in  picturing  old 
scenes  again  with  all  their  past  vividness  of  coloring  and 
contrast.  Her  father's  face  would  appear  before  her  ;  and 
oftentimes,  while  she  was  stepping  into  the  closet  to  put 
away  something  from  her  trunks,  she  would  seem  to  think 
that  he  was  immediately  coming  out  to  meet  her.  The 
morbid  influences  of  the  feelings  are  at  all  times  very 
powerful,  but  scarcely  more  so  at  any  period  than  when 

(75) 


76  AMY   LEE. 

a  deep  and  strong  grief  has  stolen  into  the  heart,  and 
usurped  its  jealous  control. 

She  sang  snatches  of  the  old  songs  she  had  taught  long 
ago  to  her  young  music  scholars,  and  tried  all  she  could 
to  dispel  the  unhealthy  feelings  that  were  continually 
gathering  about  her.  She  ran  up  and  down  stairs  to  put 
her  friend  as  many  questions  as  suggested  themselves  to 
her,  and  speculated  freely  upon  the  kind  of  people  she 
was  so  soon  to  become  acquainted  with,  and  tried  to 
fashion  her  life  here  into  as  attractive  and  even  poetic  a 
shape  as  was  possible.  By  night  her  room  assumed  the 
appearance  of  perfect  order.  One  could  at  a  glance  have 
seen  that  its  youthful  occupant  was  well  qualified  to  take 
charge  of  even  a  much  more  spacious  establishment  than 
that  which  she  was  allowed  to  call  now  her  own.  The 
chairs  were  set  around  in  the  most  easy  way,  as  if  they 
were  arranged  for  persons  to  sit  in  and  be  social.  The 
little  table  under  the  glass  was  covered  with  boxes,  and 
baskets,  and  books  ;  and  on  her  bureau  were  arranged  a 
few  shells  and  trinkets  which  from  time  to  time  she  had 
been  in  the  way  of  gathering.  There  was  also  another 
table,  at  which  she  was  to  sit  and  write  when  she  felt 
inclined,  that  stood  just  in  the  soft  shadow  of  the 
white  dimity  window  curtain,  and  on  which  were  spread 
out  her  portfolio,  her  inkstand,  a  few  books  for  daily 
use,  and  some  other  implements  pertaining  to  her  avo 
cation. 

"  There ! "   exclaimed  she  at  last,  regarding  what  she 


A   LOOK  AT   THE   VILLAGE.  77 

had  done  with  a  happy  countenance ;  "  I  believe  now  that 
I  am  quite  settled." 

In  the  latter  part  of  the  afternoon  she  thought  she 
would  go  out  for  a  walk.  Henry  was  glad  enough  to 
accompany  her,  at  his  mother's  suggestion,  and  furnished 
as  welcome  and  agreeable  an  escort  as  could  be  found 
among  those  much  older  than  himself. 

They  went  on  through  the  village  street,  Amy  admiring 
it  all  the  way,  and  emerged  on  the  road  that  threaded  its 
narrow  path  between  the  mountainous  heights,  winding 
finally  out  of  sight  to  the  far-off  northward.  Amy  kept 
putting  questions,  that  Henry  had  to  labor  hard  to  answer 
as  fast  as  they  were  asked  him.  She  would  inquire  who 
lived  in  this  house,  and  who  in  that ;  what  people  em 
ployed  themselves  about  who  had  their  dwellings  so  far 
apart  over  the  fields ;  who  worked  in  the  mills  below,  and 
where  the  proprietor's  houses  were ;  how  early  spring 
usually  set  in  here  ;  whether  there  were  many  wild  flowers 
about  on  the  hills ;  if  people  rambled  much  in  the  pleas 
ant  summer  time,  and  whether  they  generally  went  to 
church  on  Sundays. 

"  There  —  that's  the  minister's  house  ! "  exclaimed 
Henry,  when  they  came  in  sight  of  it. 

"  What  is  his  name  ?  "  asked  Amy. 

"  Mr.  Parsons  ;  and  a  real  nice  man  he  is,  too.  I  like 
him,  and  so  does  mother,  and  tso  does  every  body  that  I 
know  of." 

Amy  was  glad  to  hear  this  much  of  the  village  minis- 
7* 


78  AMY    LEE. 

ter.  And  she  took  a  longer  and  more  particular  look  at 
his  house,  wondering,  too,  if  the  time  would  ever  come 
when  she  would  be  a  welcome  visitor  across  the  threshold. 
It  was  a  plain,  white  dwelling,  with  a  little  porch  over  the 
front  door,  and  a  woodbine  at  each  side  of  the  lattice.  In 
summer,  she  thought,  it  must  be  delightful  there.  It  was 
a  house  with  what  is  usually  termed  a  gambrel  roof,  that 
made  it  look  a  dozen  times  more  cozy  and  comfortable 
than  other  houses  of  the  same  dimensions,  and  had  a  neat 
grassy  door  yard  carefully  fenced  in  from  the  street. 

"This,  then,"  said  Amy,  "is  the  parsonage.  And  I 
like  the  looks  of  it." 

"  Yonder  is  the  church,"  continued  Henry,  jpointing  to 
the  spire. 

Amy  had  observed  it  from  the  first ;  but  in  order  to  get 
a  better  view  of  it,  she  was  desirous  of  walking  by  its 
very  doors. 

It  was  a  neat,  but  substantial  edifice,  perfectly  white  in 
color,  constructed  after  the  simplest  architectural  design 
consistent  with  the  character  of  such  a  building,  with  a 
plain  spire  pointing  its  finger  heavenward,  and  a  gilded 
vane  veering  this  way  and  that  from  its  peak,  as  the  shift 
ing  currents  of  the  wind  might  direct.  Amy  liked  the 
looks  of  the  village  church  fully  as  much  as  she  did  those 
of  the  parsonage.  She  began  already  to  esteem  her 
self  happy  in  the  good  jbrtune  that  had  carried  her 
thither. 

"Where  is  the  little  school  house,  now?"  she  asked. 


A    LOOK   AT    THE   VILLAGE.  79 

"  I'll  show  you,  if  you  have  a  mind  to  go  there  with 
me,"  answered  Henry. 

"  O,  certainly  ;  I  would  not  fail  to  see  that  —  the  place 
where  I  expect  to  pass  so  many  hours  of  the  coming  sum 
mer.  I  always  want  to  make  up  my  mind  how  such  places 
are  to  look  and  seem  to  me,  before  I  go  about  any  thing 
else.  But  you  do  not  go  to  school,  I  guess,  in  the  summer 
—  do  you  ?  " 

"  No,  not  in  the  summer,"  said  he  ;  "  but  that's  because 
there's  no  school  to  go  to.  We've  had  only  winter  schools 
here  for  a  good  many  years ;  and  we  haven't  had  the  same 
teacher  for  two  winters  together.  I  haven't  been  now 
for  three  summers." 

"  Don't  you  like  to  go  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  but  mother  thinks  I've  got  too  large  to  go  to  a 
woman's  school."  He  said  this  with  such  an  air  of  seri 
ousness,  that  Amy  could  not  help  smiling  as  she  looked 
down  into  his  face.  "  Besides,"  added  he,  just  as  seri 
ously,  "  mother  thinks  I  can  be  a  good  deal  of  help  to  her 
at  home.  I  like  to  work  about  home." 

"  Yes,  that  is  a  very  good  sign  for  a  boy,"  said  Amy. 
"  But  it  is  for  your  good,  too,  to  go  to  school." 

"  0,  I  know  that,  Miss  Lee ;  but  then  what  can  I  do 
when  there  isn't  any  school  ?  " 

Amy  smiled  again  at  his  manly  earnestness. 

"  I  don't  like  to  be  shut  up  in  a  school  room  any  too 
Well  in  the  summer  time,"  said  he,  seeming  to  follow  out 
the  train  of  thought  into  which  he  had  fallen. 


80  AMY    LEE. 

How  natural  that  was  !  What  child  is  any  too  fond  of 
that  weary  confinement,  tied  to  the  hard  benches  for  six 
weary  hours  of  the  sultry  day,  its  mind  wandering  here 
and  there  like  the  fluttering  butterflies  over  the  grass  out 
the  window,  and  its  feelings  unquiet  beneath  the  restraint 
that  lies  so  like  an  incubus  upon  every  moment  of  the 
school  day  ?  Childhood  rebels,  and  makes  it  the  hardest 
task  it  is  compelled  to  perform. 

Talking  together  after  this  pleasant  manner,  they  came 
to  an  out-of-the-way  spot,  not  exactly  at  the  end  of  the 
street,  yet  so  much  off  from  its  margin  as  to  seem  quite 
out  of  the  village,  where  stood  a  diminutive  brown  build 
ing,  nearly  square,  with  a  big  stone  chimney  rising  from 
the  middle  of  the  roof,  and  a  padlock  fastening  the  outer 
door. 

"  That's  the"  school  house,"  said  Henry,  pointing  to  it. 

"That!"  exclaimed  Amy. 

It  was  as  much  pleasure  as  it  was  surprise  that  prompt 
ed  the  exclamation.  The  view  of  so  unique  an  edifice  for 
such  an  ennobling  purpose  excited  quite  different  feelings 
from  what  she  had  expected. 

The  house  was  situated  in  what  might  truly  be  termed 
a  grassy  square,  standing  away  at  a  considerable  distance 
from  the  road.*  On  three  sides  were  stone  walls,  gray 
with  the  lichens  that  are  the  fruits  of  time.  The  fourth 
was  open  to  the  road  ;  and  the  whole  enclosure  formed  as 
roomy  a  play  ground  as  the  children  issuing  from  any 
school  house  could  wish  to  romp  and  gambol  upon. 


A    LOOK    AT    THE    VILLAGE.  81 

Amy  stepped  to  one  of  the  windows,  and  looked  in. 
There  was  a  row  of  benches  all  the  way  round  the  room. 
Also,  two  shorter  benches  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  floor, 
having  high  backs  to  them.  These,  she  thought,  must  be 
placed  for  the  smaller  ones,  whose  heads  needed  a  support 
by  the  middle  of  the  afternoons,  even  if  it  were  not  neces 
sary  to  stretch  some  of  them  at  full  length  on  the  seat  for 
repose. 

'*  And  I  am  to  busy  myself  in  this  quiet  room  all  the 
summer,"  mused  Amy,  turning  away  and  surveying  the 
thick  carpet  of  grass  that  was  beginning  to  break  out  a 
beautiful  green.  "  I  wonder  if  I  shall  do  any  good  here  ; 
if  the  children  will  all  love  me ;  if  I  shall  be  sorry  to 
break  up  at  the  last  and  go  away.  I  wonder  —  I  wonder." 
And  in  her  train  of  thought  she  broke  out  humming  a 
sweet  and  plaintive  air.  So  perfectly  seemed  it  to  accord 
with  the  time  and  the  place,  that  little  Henry  stopped  in 
his  walk  about  the  house  to  listen,  enjoying  the  soft  and 
low  melody  with  the  hearty  sympathy  that  is  so  easily 
called  forth  from  a  child's  soul. 

They  turned  at  length  from  the  place,  and  pursued  their 
way  homewards.  The  reader  may  be  told,  in  order  better 
to  understand  the  topography  of  Valley  Village,  that  the 
street  on  which  the  village  lay  ran  directly  north  and 
south;  at  the  far  northward  the  broad  plain  narrowed 
perceptibly  between  the  shouldering  mountains,  bringing 
the  stream  that  fed  the  reservoir  below  exactly  across  the 
road,  where  it  was  spanned  by  an  ancient-looking,  rustic 


82  AMY   LEE. 

bridge,  over  whose  rails  you  could  look  down  dreamily 
into  the  flowing  water ;  at  the  southward,  and  much  below 
the  real  settlement  where  the  dwellings  were  grouped,  the 
road  and  the  river  ran  side  by  side  for  a  considerable  dis 
tance,  when  they  separated  finally  to  permit  the  former  to 
pursue  its  own  course  across  the  open  country  to  the  mar 
ket  town,  some  ten  miles  away,  and  allow  the  latter  to 
give  a  lift  to  the  great  wheels  that  went  round  and  round 
beneath  the  high  factory  buildings,  turning  dizzy  spindles 
almost  without  number. 

Amy,  therefore,  had  not  yet  walked  entirely  through  the 
place,  but  far  enough  quite  to  get  a  good  idea  of  what  it 
might  be.  She  had  seen  the  church,  and  the  parsonage, 
and  the  school  house.  She  knew  somewhat  of  the  scenery 
formed  by  the  bold  mountain  heights  away  to  the  north 
ward.  She  had  seen  enough  of  the  village  to  picture  it 
all  out  in  her  mind's  eye  again,  as  sleeping  so  peacefully 
in  the  lap  of  this  beautiful  landscape,  itself  imbosomed  in 
a  dreamy  beauty. 

-"  Shall  you  like  to  live  here,  do  you  think  ? "  asked  her 
companion,  after  a  thoughtful  silence  on  the  part  of  both. 

As  she  glanced  at  him  before  giving  an  answer,  she 
found  that  he  was  looking  with  a  highly  sympathetic  ex 
pression  exactly  in  her  face. 

"  I  know  I  shall,"  said  she,  not  a  little  moved  by  this 
tender  feeling  of  the  boy.  "  Especially,"  she  added,  "  if 
I  am  to  have  you  help  make  me  happy,  as  you  have  done 
this  afternoon." 


A   LOOK.   AT    THE    VILLAGE.  83 

Now  he  looked  perplexed  to  understand  what  she  could 
mean.  In  his  innocent  simplicity,  he  could  not  see  how 
lie  had  been  an  addition  to  the  enjoyment  of  one  like  her. 
The  expression  of  sympathy  was  superseded  by  quite 
another. 

"  I  promise  myself  a  great  many  pleasant  walks  this 
summer  up  yonder,"  said  Amy,  pointing  back  in  the 
northerly  direction.  "  I  want  to  be  climbing  those  hills, 
too.  And  I  seem  to  know  who  is  going  to  climb  them 
with  me." 

Henry  blushed  now. 

"That  is,"  said  she  again,  "if  you  don't  happen  to  be 
too  much  occupied  about  home.  Some  boys  are  always 
behindhand  with  their  work,  you  know,  and  so  they  never 
have  leisure  for  any  thing." 

"  I  wonder  if  you  think  Tm  one  of  that  kind,"  said  he, 
modestly,  while  a  smile  broke  out  over  his  features. 

"  Shall  I,  do  you  think  ?  Can  I  depend  on  you  before 
hand  to  go  with  me  whenever  I  want'  a  young  companion 
like  you  ?  " 

"I'll  try  to  let  you  see  that  you  can,  at  any  rate,"  he 
answered.  "I  don't  like  to  make  too  many  promises. 
Mother  says  it's  a  good  deal  better  to  do,  and  not  say, 
than  to  say,  and  not  do." 

"  And  your  mother  is  right,"  said  Amy.  "  Always 
remember  what  your  mother  tells  you,  and  you  cannot  fail 
to  be  happy  yourself  and  loved  of  every  one  else.  I  never 
knew  my  mother.  She  died  before  I  can  remember  her." 


84  AMY   LEE. 

Amy  said  this  in  such  a  low  and  tremulous  voice,  —  not 
as  if  she  was  dryly  didacticizing  to  the  boy,  but  as  if  she 
had  uttered  what  she  possibly  could  not  help  uttering 
aloud,  —  that  a  visible  emotion  took  hold  on  his  feelings, 
and  he  walked  on  by  her  side  for  a  long  distance  in 
silence.  Perhaps  his  thoughts  led  him  to  the  possibility 
of  some  day  losing  his  own  mother. 

Going  back  again,  Amy  felt  confirmed  in  her  first  im 
pressions  of  the  village  street  and  its  houses.  It  seemed 
so  much  pleasanter,  so  much  more  quiet'  and  charmingly 
rural,  that  the  majority  of  the  dwellings  had  no  door 
yards  before  them,  and  the  green-  grass  grew  close  up  to 
the  very  thresholds.  Such  a  sight  drove  away  all  thoughts 
of  a  set  and  selfish  division  of  property,  and  gave  birth  to 
the  most  delightful  fancies  connected  with  the  pristine 
simplicity  of  rustic  life.  She  wanted  to  see  a  country 
village  where  a  stranger  could  walk  quietly  through  the 
grassy  street,  while  he  could  likewise  look  without  an 
effort  into  the  open  windows,  and  find  the  families  sitting 
about  their  tea  tables.  This  open-yard  style,  therefore, 
suited  her;  and  whether  the  quiet  villagers  themselves 
had  ever  thought  of  it  or  not,  it  was  settled  in  her  mind 
that  this  air  of  free  intercourse  between  door  and  door 
certainly  enhanced  the  calm  beauty  of  the  dwellings,  and 
set  every  one  of  them  oft7  to  a  much  more  considerable 
advantage. 

Chatting  and  musing  along  by  the  way,  looking  with 
increasing  interest  at  the  different  little  dwellings  they 


A    LOOK    AT    THE    VILLAGE.  85 

passed,  putting  her  thoughts  continually  in  a  frame  of 
profound  gratitude  for  the  daily  .mercies  that  gathered 
around  her,  and  suffering  her  heart  to  trip  joyfully  forward 
into  the  pleasant  vista  of  the  future,  Amy  reached  at 
length,  with  her  attentive  young  companion,  the  door  of 
his  mother's  house  ;  which  she,  on  seeing  them,  hurried 
into  the  little  entry  to  open,  welcoming  her  new  boarder 
in  again  with  the  same  happy  and  sympathizing  smile  that 
had  made  her  Amy's  friend  from  the  first. 

"You've  had  a  long  walk,  I  know,"  said  the  kind 
Mrs.  Gummel ;  "  and  now  supper  is  all  on  the  table, 
and  you  shall  sit  down  and  tell  me  all  about  your  feelings 
again." 

And  Amy  went  in.  And  at  the  tea  table  they  did  sit 
for  a  long  while,  talking  of  the  things  that  had  that  after 
noon  undergone  Amy's  inspection.  It  was  gratifying  to 
behold  so  pleasant  an  intimacy  as  had  suddenly  sprung  up 
between  Mrs.  Gummel  and  her  boarder.  And  it  was  all 
the  more  so,  when  one  stopped  to  consider  how  acci 
dentally  it  seemed  to  have  begun,  and  how  naturally 
and  delightfully  it  was  developing  itself  into  what  prom 
ised  before  a  great  while  to  be  a  rich  and  valuable 
friendship. 

The  wood  fire  blazed  again  on  the  hearth.     The  table 
at  last  was  cleared  off  and  set  away.     And  Amy  sat  and 
looked  thoughtfully  into  the  coals,  blessing  God  in  every 
happy  thought  for  his  overflowing  goodness. 
8 


' 


86  .      AMY   LEE. 

Mrs.  Gummel  felt  that  she  could  not  have  been  fur 
nished  with  a  better  boarder,  or  one  in  whose  companion 
ship  she  could  enjoy  so  much,  had  she  been  at  the  trouble 
of  hunting  the  six  New  England  states  all  through  and 
through. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 
HUNTING  UP  PUPILS. 

AFTER  breakfast  was  over  the  next  morning,  Amy  put 
c  a  her  things,  and  started  to  go  out  to  hunt  up  her  school. 
It  was  still  another  pleasant  morning,  and  every  thing 
without  doors  invited  her  out.  The  signs  of  early  spring 
were  increasing,  as  it  really  seemed,  with  every  hour. 
The  grass  was  pricking  through  the  soil  faster ;  the  buds 
were  swelling ;  the  sun  grew  more  and  more  warm  and 
genial ;  and  the  atmosphere  was  becoming  as  balmy  as  a 
soft  southern  gale. 

"  I'm  sure  I  hope  you  will  meet  with  all  the  success  you 
desire,"  offered  Mrs.  Gummel,  as  Amy  folded  her  shawl 
about  her  and  moved  towards  the  door.  "  And  I  think 
you  will,  too  ;  for  there's  to  ~be  a  school  kept  here  by  some 
body,  and  the  scholars  are  all  ready.  That  much  I  know." 

"  Where  shall  I  go  first  ?  "  asked  Amy.  "  Shall  I  take 
the  houses  right  through  the  street  in  their  order  ?  Or 
shall  I  go  over  first  to  the  minister's  ? " 

"  I  think  I  would  go  and  call  first  on  Mr.  Parsons. 
That  will  be  the  best  thing  you  can  do.  He  always  inter 
ests  himself  about  these  matters ;  and  if  you  lay  your  case 

(87) 


88  AMY   LEE. 

frankly  before  him,  and  tell  him  exactly  what  you  want  to 
do,  he  will  assist  you  more  than  anybody  else  could.  I 
think  I  would  go  and  see  him  first,  by  all  means." 

"  Then  I  will,"  returned  Amy.  "  I  hope  I  Uiall  have 
good  luck.  Good  morning,  then,  Mrs.  Gummel !  Good 
morning,  Henry !  I  shall  hope  to  be  able  to  bring  back 
my  report  to  you  by  noon." 

"  Perhaps  he  will  keep  you  with  him  to  dinner,"  sug 
gested  Mrs.  Gummel. 

"  Well,  I  shall  see,"  Amy  replied,  laughing.  "  Perhaps 
he  will." 

She  went  out.  Mrs.  Gummel's  eyes  followed  her  affec 
tionately  as  far  as  they  could  along  the  street.  That  good 
lady  was  thinking  of  the  daughter  —  the  only  daughter  — 
whom  she  had  years  ago  given  back  to  Heaven,  grateful 
for  even  the  brief  solace  that  she  had  proved.  If  now 
that  little  daughter  of  hers  could  but  have  grown  to  be  as 
graceful  and  womanly  as  Amy !  —  if  she  might  have  been 
spared  to  a  longer  and  a  closer  companionship  with  her 
own  heart !  —  if  she  could  have  been  allowed  to  behold 
her  in  the  flush  of  youthful  health  and  the  perfection  of 
youthful  beauty,  like  this  dear  girl  that  had  just  gone  out 
of  her  door  !  But  was  not  this  rebelliousness  ?  Was  it 
not  being  dissatisfied  with  the  ways  of  Him  who  declares 
that  his  ways  are  not  as  our  ways,  nor  his  thoughts  as  our 
thoughts  ?  Was  it  keeping  her  heart  trusting  and  humble 
in  the  great  power  of  Him  who  enriched  and  supported 
it  every  day  ? 


HUNTING   UP   PUPILS.  89 

Reacting  the  gate  of  the  parsonage,  Amy  opened  it  and 
went  through.  There  was  nothing  by  which  she  could 
alarm  the  inmates  of  the  quiet  house,  not  so  much  as  an 
old-fashioned,  gorgon-headed  rapper ;  so  she  fell  back  on 
the  first  principles  of  social  people,  and  employed  with 
much  vigor  her  knuckles. 

Twice  or  thrice  she  was  obliged  to  rap,  before  she  suc 
ceeded  in  arousing  any  one.  At  length  she  caught  the 
sound  of  an  opening  door  in  one  of  the  apartments,  and 
then  she  heard  the  footsteps  of  some  one  coming  down 
the  front  stairs.  A  moment  afterwards  the  door  opened, 
and  a  gentleman  dressed  in  his  sober-colored  morning 
gown  stood  before  her. 

"  Good  morning ! "  he  saluted  her,  in  a  tone  of  great 
affability  and  kindness.  "  Will  you  walk  in  ? " 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Amy,  and  stepped  across  the 
threshold. 

He  waited  on  her  into  the  sitting  room,  into  which  ere 
long  came  his  wife,  who  seated  herself  with  them,  and 
began  to  take  part  in  the  conversation. 

"  I  have  called  this  morning,  sir,"  Amy  began,  "to  see 
what  I  could  do  about  getting  together  pupils  enough  to 
open  a  summer  school  in  the  village." 

"  Ah,  yes  —  yes,"  he  immediately  assented. 

"  And  I  have  presumed  to  think  that  you  would  not  be 
unwilling  to  help  me  about  my  plan,"  she  added. 

"  Certainly  not ;  certainly  not.  Indeed,  I  have  been 
for  some  time  past  thinking  how  we  were  to  manage  here 
S* 


90  AMY    LEE. 

this  season  without  one.  Usually  we  have  offers  of  teach 
ers  enough,  and  of  course  some  of  them  have  to  go  away 
disappointed ;  but  this  year  I  do  not  think  there  has  been 
a  single  person  round  to  make  inquiries  whether  we  are 
going  to  have  a  school  or  not.  I  can't  seem  to  account 
for  it.  You  have  had  some  experience  in  teaching,  ] 
conclude  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  not  in  ordinary  schools.  I  have  been  engaged 
chiefly  with  music  pupils.  Yet  I  think  I  could  get  on 
very  easily  with  such  scholars  as  one  generally  finds  in  a 
summer  school." 

"  No  doubt  of  it  at  all,"  he  returned,  glancing  again  at 
Amy's  face  with  an  expression  of  satisfaction  at  what  he 
saw  plainly  written  there. 

And  then  ensued  a  short  silence.     | 

"  How  large  a  school  do  you  think  you  could  get  along 
with  comfortably  ?  "  asked  the  clergyman  again. 

"  I  can  best  answer  your  question,  perhaps,"  she  replied, 
"  by  inquiring  how  large  a  school  you  generally  have  here 
in  the  village  during  the  summer  months." 

"  Well,  let  me  see,"  and  he  cast  his  eyes  down  calcu- 
latingly  upon  the  floor.  "  One  ;  four  ;  six ;  -r—  well,  per 
haps,  fifteen." 

"  Or  perhaps  twenty,"  added  his  wife,  who  seemed  to 
have  taken  quite  a  secret  interest  in  the  success  of  the 
youthful  stranger's  plan. 

"  Well,  I  should  think  there  might  be  twenty.  Do  you 
think  you  could  manage  with  as  many  as  that  without 
much  difficulty  ? " 


HUNTING    UP    PUPILS.  91 

"  I  should  give  myself  but  little  anxiety  on  that  score," 
answered  Amy,  while  the  countenance  of  the  clergyman's 
wife  beamed  with  a  great  show  of  sympathy  for  her. 
"The  scholars  are  mostly  young  girls,  I  suppose." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Parsons,  "  nearly  all  girls ;  and  of 
them  you  would  hardly  find  one  above  twelve  years  of 
age  —  perhaps  the  greater  part  of  them  under  ten,  or  nine. 
The  most  that  is  expected  in  these  summer  schools  is,  to 
teach  the  little  girls  of  the  village  how  to  read  and  to  sew. 
All  that  one  wants  is  patience." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  acquiesced  Amy. 

"  And  you  would  likewise  find,"  said  the  clergyman, 
"  that  the  introduction  of  singing  into  your  school  would 
be  a  very  great  attraction,  as  well  as  a  relief  to  yourself 
through  the  day." 

"  I  had  designed  to  introduce  it,"  said  Amy.  "  I  know 
that  I  can  get  the  affection  of  pupils  a  great  deal  sooner 
by  that  means  than  by  almost  any  other." 

"  And  it's  such  a  humanizing  branch  of  instruction,  too. 
Nothing,  I  apprehend,  assists  more  in  the  culture  and 
expansion  of  the  heart.  The  human  soul  was  created  with 
an  under  current  of  divine  harmony.  Strike  but  the  first 
responsive  chord,  and  you  may  instantly  sweep  .all  the 
strings." 

"  Yes  —  yes,"  quickly  assented  his  wife,  whose  eyes 
alone  confessed  to  her  belief  in  the  sentiments  he  had  just 
uttered. 

"  I  hardly  know  just  how  to  begin  in  this  business," 


92  AMY   LEE. 

said  Amy,  a  little  embarrassed  at  this  point.  "  I  do  not 
feel,  sir.  that  coming  here  a  perfect  stranger,  as  I  do,  it 
can  be  expected  by  me  that  you  should  pledge  me  your 
assistance  ;  yet  I  knew  it  was  the  properest  step  for  me  to 
take,  to  come  first  and  consult  with  you  about  it." 

Mr.  Parsons  bowed,  and  his  wife  regarded  her  with  still 
a  deeper  interest. 

Amy  saw  in  a  moment  that  the  clergyman  was  quite 
unwilling  to  begin  then  and  put  her  a  variety  of  interrog 
atories  respecting  her  age,  her  advantages,  her  references, 
if  any  she  had,  her  connection,  or  her  professions ;  and 
to  relieve  the  moment  of  any  further  embarrassment,  she 
at  once  commenced  giving  a  narration  of  such  portion  of 
her  past  life  as  would  lead  her  listeners  to  a  more  thor 
ough  judgment  respecting  her.  When  she  had  finished, 
she  was  gratified  to.  see  that  both  of  them  manifested  a 
much  deeper  sympathy  for  her,  and  voluntarily  proffered 
a  greater  degree  of  influence  in  behalf  of  her  summer 
project. 

"  Where  had  I  better  call  to  get  my  pupils  ? "  she 
asked,  directing  her  inquiry  rather  to  Mrs.  Parsons. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  answered  the  latter  ;  "  had  you 
better  think  of  going  about  yourself  at  all  ?  " 

"  Hadn't  I  better  just  mention  to  the  people  who  will 
be  likely  to  send  children  to  school,"  interrupted  the  cler 
gyman,  "  that  there  is  a  lady  in  the  place  who  proposes 
to  open  a  school,  and  that  the  school  will  open  on  such 
a  day  ?  " 


HUNTING  TIP    PUPILS.  93 

"  Yes ;  that  would  be  better,  Mr.  Parsons,"  assented  his 
wife. 

Amy  looked  her  thanks  for  his  kind  offer.  She  did  not 
feel  that  she  then  could  utter  them. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  he  again,  "  do  you  rest  perfectly 
easy  about  the  matter,  and  I  will  make  all  the  needful 
preparations  for  you.  I  will  see  the  parents  of  all  the 
pupils  you  can  have  reason  to  expect,  and  enlist  them  in 
favor  of  your  undertaking.  I  will  go  about  it  this  very 
afternoon —  this  very  day." 

"  I  cannot  seem  to  thank  you  as  I  wish  to  for  your  gen 
erous  sympathy,"  replied  Amy. 

"  O,  never  mind  —  never  mind.  Don't  begin  to  say 
any  thing  this  forenoon  about  that.  We  won't  stop  to 
talk  too  much  before  we've  accomplished  a  little  some 
thing,  you  know.  But  how  soon  will  you  begin  your 
school,  Miss  Lee  ?  People  want  to  know  all  about  that, 
you  see." 

"  Well,"  she  hesitated,  "  as  soon  as  may  be  practi 
cable." 

"  Next  Monday  ?  "  inquired  he.  "  It's  getting  along 
in  the  season  already,  you  know." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Parsons  ;  "  I  would  begin  as  soon  as 
that,  if  I  conveniently  could." 

"  There  is  nothing  in  the  world  to  hinder  me  that  I 
know  of,"  returned  Amy.  "  If  I  should  consent  to  wait 
till  the  week  following,  should  that  delay  be  neces- 
sarv  " 


94  AMY   LEE. 

"  But  I  don't  think  it  will,  Miss  Lee,"  interrupted  the 
clergyman. 

"  Even  if  it  should,"  continued  Amy,  "  I  shall  only  be 
waiting  for  the  time  to  come  round.  And  I  think  I  had 
rather  commence  my  school  with  but  half  the  number  of 
pupils  I  may  expect,  than  to  wait  a  whole  week  in  com 
parative  idleness." 

"  And  I  think  so,  too,"  added  the  clergyman's  wife. 
.    "You  will  pardon  me,  sir,"  said  Amy,  "  for  having  kept 
you  away  so  long  from  your  other  engagements.     I  really 
did  not  think  I  should  have  occasion  to  stay  what  time  I 
have  staid."     And  she  rose  to  go. 

"  O,  no,  no,"  answered  Mr.  Parsons.  "  You  are  not 
interrupting  me  at  all.  I  am  really  very  glad  you  came 
in  as  you  did." 

"  Yes,  so  am  I,"  said  his  wife,  with  her  old  glance  of 
sympathy. 

"  And  I  will  do  all  I  can  to  help  you  on,  believe  me," 
he  added. 

Amy  bowed  her  acknowledgment  of  thanks. 

"  But  you  haven't  been  over  to  see  your  school  house 
yet  —  have  you  ?  "  he  inquired,  seeking  to  change  the 
current  of  her  thoughts. 

His  wife  smiled. 

"  Well,  what  are  you  laughing  at  ?  "  said  he,  turning 
round  upon  her  with  one  of  the  best  humored  faces  in  the   * 
world. 

"Nothing  —  nothing,"  she  carelessly  answered,  and 
laughed  again. 


HUNTING   tTP    PUPILS.  95 

"  0,  yes,  sir,"  said  Amy ;  "  I  have  been  over  there,  to 
be  sure.  I  was  eager  to  see  where  I  was  to  perform  my 
summer's  labor." 

"It's  rather  a  primitive  edifice.  Don't  you  think 
it  is  ?  " 

"Well,  rather  so,  sir,"  Amy  hesitated,  enjoying  the 
genial  spirit  of  his  humor. 

"  Old  and  gray,"  said  he  ;  "  old  and  gray.  The  chim 
ney  looks  as  if  it  might  be  the  outwork  of  some  heavy 
fortress.  There  is  little  about  it  that  isn't  quite  ancient 
in  its  appearance.  But  did  you  observe  our  padlock  ?  " 

"  I  believe  I  did,  sir,"  said  she,  exchanging  a  smile 
with  the  clergyman's  wife. 

"  I  call  it  our  padlock  because  I  conclude  it  belongs  to 
the  village  —  as  much  to  me  as  to  any  body  else  ;  in  other 
words,  I  claim  to  possess  an  individual  interest  in  that 
particular  padlock  ;  and  it's  the  only  padlock,  too,  I  be 
lieve,  in  which  I  am  at  all  interested." 

And  then  he  threw  back  his  head,  and  gave  a  good, 
hearty  laugh,  such  as  only  those  persons  are  known  to 
enjoy  whose  spirits  are  in  a  state  of  health,  and  whose 
hearts  are  supposed  to  be  always  in  the  right  place. 

"However,"  he, went  on,  sobering  somewhat,  "it's  all 
well  enough  in  its  way,  I  suppose.  Only  we  feel  once  in 
a  while  like  making  a  little  fun  of  it,  as  you  see  me  doing 
now.  No,  Miss  Lee ;  it's  not  in  the  padlock  that  the 
trouble  lies.  I  tell  our  good  people  here  that  what  we 
want  is,  not  a  new  padlock,  but  a  new  school  house" 


96  Ai£T    LEE. 


<( 


Yes,  indeed,"  said  his  wife.     "  I  wonder,  though.,  if 
they  will  ever  have  one." 

"  All  in  good  time,  perhaps,  my  dear ;  all  in  good  time. 
It  will  not  do  to  think  of  hurrying  rational  people  any 
faster  than  they  will  go  of  themselves.  Ten  to  one  they'll 
turn  round  upon  you,  and  drive  you  still  farther  back. 
But  Miss  Lee,  now,  must  go  to  work,  and  build  up  a  first 
rate  reputation  as  a  teacher,  as  I  think  from  her  appear 
ance  she  can  do  ;  then  the  scholars  will  flock  around  her,  ' 
and  stay  by  her  as  long  as  she  stays  ;  next  you  will  hear 
that  some  generous  village  heart  has  taken  secret  thought 
about  a  new  school  house,  convinced  that  such  a  build 
ing  is  not  good  enough  for  so  excellent  a  teacher  ;  then 
the  various  plans  and  projects  for  another  edifice  will  be 
brought  forward,  and  discussed  with  all  vigor  in  the  pleas 
ant  village  circles  and  at  every  happy  tea  table  there  is 
along  the  street ;  and  finally  the  thing  will  be  accom 
plished,  will  be  finished  ;  we  shall  have  a  new  school 
house,  and  we  will  try  to  get  along  without  the  old  iron 
padlock.  And  let  us  earnestly  hope,  my  dear,  that  Miss 
Lee  will  be  herself  the  happy  instrument  of  so  much  prog 
ress  in  our  little  village  circle." 

"  I  hope  she  will,  really,"  said  Mrs.  Parsons. 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  rejoined  Amy,  hesitating, 
and  modestly  embarrassed. 

"Nor  I  either,"  added  Mr.  Parsons.  "That  is,  I 
mean  to  say  I  am  not  so  very  sure  it  will  not  all  come 
about  pretty  much  as  I  have  sketched  it.  At  least,  I 
hope  it  may." 


HUNTING    UP    PUPILS.  97 

And  Amy,  a  stranger  there  in  a  strange  place,  looked 
into  her  own  heart,  and  wished  in  secret  that  something 
like  this  might  eventually  happen.  She  longed  to  be  doing 
service  in  the  world,  and  she  likewise  possessed  that  com 
mon  desire  of  humanity  for  the  honest  approval  of  every 
sincere  heart  near  her. 

After  her  visit  at  the  parsonage  had  been  still  longer 
protracted,  and  after  Amy  had  received  repeated  invita 
tions,  too,  to  run  in  upon  them  there  just  as  often  as  she 
felt  inclined,  with  many  an  expression  of  gratitude  she 
took  her  leave,  promising  to  do  all  that  was  in  her  power 
to  carry  out  her  designs  for  the  summer  successfully,  and 
in  her  heart  calling  down  abundant  blessings  upo'n  them 
for  their  unstinted  kindness. 

Directly  she  returned  home  to  Mrs.  Gummel  again,  and 
in  time  to  find  that  dinner  was  quite  ready  for  her,  while 
her  friend  was  just  as  ready  to  hear  every  item  of  fresh 
intelligence  that  she  had  to  communicate.  She  threw  off 
her  things,  and  sat  down  to  dinner  at  once. 

In  the  afternoon  she  and  Mrs.  Gummel  enjoyed  them 
selves  famously.  Amy  asked  as  many  questions  as  she 
liked,  and  her  friend  answered  every  one  of  them.  Such 
a  sociable  time  as  they  made  of  it !  And  Amy  was  so 
much  pleased  with  her  prospects  !  And  Mrs.  Gummel 
was  so  much  delighted,  too,  with  her  young  friend's 
heightening  cheerfulness  and  vivacity ! 

**  I  do  not  think  I  could  have  been  better  suited,"  Amy 


98  AMY    LEE. 

told  her,  "  if  I  had  come  and  begun  my  arrangements  six 
months  ago." 

i "  Nor  I,"  said  her  friend.  "  I  am  happy  to  find  it  is 
so —  I  dare  say,  almost  as  happy  as  you  are  yourself." 

"  Mr.  Parsons  is  a  kind  man,"  added  Amy.  "  Indeed, 
he  could  not  have  promised  to  do  more  for  me,  if  I  had 
been  an  old  acquaintance." 

"  That's  always  his  way.  He  is  one  of  the  very  best 
of  men,  we  all  know.  But  he  was  probably  much  pleased 
with  your  appearance.  He  can  see  into  a  person  about  as 
soon  as  any  man." 

"  And  I  liked  his  wife  none  the  less  than  himself,"  she 
added.  "  Both  of  them  showed  me  a  great  deal  of  sym 
pathy,  and  took  almost  as  much  interest  in  my  school  as 
I  could  myself." 

"  Yes,  that's  just  the  way  with  both  of  them.  I  do 
think  Mr.  Parsons  and  his  wife  are  the  best  of  folks." 

Before  the  summer  was  over,  Amy  had  far  better  reason 
to  think  so  likewise. 

Well,  to  conclude  about  this  matter  of  collecting  pupils. 
Mr.  Parsons  and  his  wife,  both  of  them,  did  go  around 
through  the  village,  between  that  day,  which  was  Wednes 
day,  and  the  following  Sunday,  laboring  disinterestedly 
and  with  all  their  energies  for  the  cause  in  which  they  had 
enlisted.  The  lukewarm  they  excited  by  urgent  appeals ; 
the  indifferent  they  stirred  into  action  ;  those  who  intend 
ed  to  send  but  half  of  their  little  ones  they  persuaded  to 
send  the  whole ;  they  secured  the  support  of  the  men,  the 


HUNTING    UP    PUPILS.  99 

women,  and  the  children  ;  and  by  the  time  the  week  drew 
to  its  close,  they  had  succeeded  even  beyond  their  own 
hopes  in  the  object  they  had  so  much  at  heart. 

Amy  called  again  at  the  parsonage,  to*  learn  how  their 
efforts  in  her  behalf  were  prospering ;  and.  in  turn  Mrs. 
Parsons  came  over  to  see  her  at  her  own  lodgings.  And 
when  Saturday  afternoon  brought  around  the  end  of  the 
eventful  week,  she  felt  that  a  great  deal  more  had  been 
accomplished  than  she  could  ever  have  hoped  for  in  that 
time,  and  her  heart  had  been  made  lighter  and  happier 
than  for  many  and  many  a  week  before. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  FIRST  SUNDAY. 

"  Now,  you  are  going  to  church  with  me  all  day  to-day, 
Miss  Lee,"  said  Mrs.  Gummel,  as  they  got  up  from  the 
breakfast  table  on  Sunday  morning  —  the  first  Sunday 
morning  Amy  had  seen  in  Valley  Village.  ."  You  will 
find,  I  think,  that  our  minister  is  quite  as  good  a  man  in 
the  pulpit  as  he  is  out  of  it." 

"  Indeed,  I  do  not  doubt  that,"  Amy  answered.  "  I 
can  readily  believe  all  you  will  tell  me  that  is  good 
about  him.  But  what  a  lovely  day  it's  going  to  be  !  I 
declare  I  think  it's  too  pleasant  almost  to  stay  within 
doors." 

"  Of  the  delicious  summer  days,"  said  Mrs.  Gummel, 
"  I  think  that  Sunday  is  the  most  heavenly  of  all.  The 
air  itself  seems  to  waft  happiness  to  you.  You  breathe  in 
repose  for  your  soul,  with  the  atmosphere.  You  do  not 
know  much  yet,  I  guess,  about  these  pleasant  Sundays  in 
the  country." 

"  Very  little,  and  I  am  sorry  to  say  it.  But  I  hope  my 
experiences  of  the  present  season  may  be  as  rich  as  I  could 
desire.  They  certainly  promise  well  thus  far." 

(100) 


THE    FIKST    SUNDAY.  101 

They  were  soon  after  ready  to  go,  and  were  sitting  and 
waiting  for  the  next  bell  to  ring.  Master  Henry  was 
seated  near  one  of  the  front  windows,  reading  in  one  of 
the  few  books  his  .mother  kept  lying  on  the  table ;  and 
Amy  could  not  help  regarding  him  with  a  great  deal  of 
interest,  if  not  affection.  He  wore  a  neat  suit  of  black, 
his  jacket  buttoned  up  snugly  to  his  chin  with  a  row  of 
bright  metal  buttons,  and  a  plain  white  linen  collar  turned 
smoothly  over  all  around  his  neck.  His  hair,  which  was 
a  little  inclined  to  curling,  was  combed,  and  brushed  till 
it  shone  again,  and  being  parted  so  carefully  from  his 
forehead  by  the  tasteful  hand  of  his  mother,  contrasted 
with  a  most  pleasing  effect  with  the  whiteness  of  his  full 
temples,  and  lent  even  a  lustrous  expression  to  his  dark 
and  beaming  eyes. 

Presently  the  tongue  of  the  last  morning  bell  struck  its 
alarm.  The  clear  and  melodious  sound  seemed  to  Amy 
to  vibrate  far  up  and  down  the  street,  shivering  its  har 
mony  among  the  maple  tree  tops,  floating  away  in  its 
prolonged  reverberations  to  the  distant  meeting  of  the 
mountains,  and  brooding  at  length  like  a  lulling  musical 
dream  over  the  village  that 'lay  lapped  so  quietly  between 
the  hills. 

Mrs.  Gummel  rose  to  go,  and  so  did  Amy.  Henry 
opened  to  them  the  doors,  and  took  care  to  secure  them 
after  him.  And  as  they  walked  on  slowly  over  the  soft 
sward,  enjoying  in  silence  both  the  music  of  the  bell  and 
the  quiet  and  holy  thoughts  of  the  morning,  Master  Henry 
9* 


102  AMY    LEE. 

caught  up  with  them  after  his  little  delay,  stepping  along 
by  the  side  of  Amy,  and  appearing  to  enjoy  his  heart- full 
of  the  influences  and  associations  of  the  day. 

It  was  truly  a  beautiful  sight,  that  of  all  the  villagers 
going  in  procession  to  church.  Never  could  that  plat  of 
grass  be  made  to  look  more  inviting  and  delightful,  nor 
would  the  light  shadows  of  the  maple  trees  ever  drop  down 
on  a  more  attractive  picture.  Men  and  women  were  wend 
ing  their  thoughtful  way  along,  their  faces  radiant  with  the 
joy  that  breathed  from  their  hearts.  They  discoursed  with 
one  another  about  the  pleasantness  of  the  morning,  and 
chatted  in  voices  of  social  sympathy  about  the  more  recent 
affairs  of  their  households.  Now  it  was  of  the  weather, 
and  now  of  the  minister ;  at  one  moment  of  the  promise 
of  the  spring,  and  the  next  of  the  health  of  their  families. 
These  dear,  delightful  pictures  of  rural  life  are  nowhere  in 
this  land  to  be  seen  in  such  perfection  as  right  here  among 
us  in  New  England.  Nowhere  in  the  world  can  the 
stranger's  eyes  find  visions  that  so  enchant  and  enrich  his 
heart  as  these  of  the  Sunday  march  to  church,  of  the 
gathering  neighbors,  of  the  radiant  countenances,  and  the 
Sabbath  costumes. 

Amy  looked  in  every  practicable  direction  around  her, 
feasting  her  eyes  on  the  living  scene.  A  sense  —  unde- 
finable  she  felt  it  was  —  of  profound  happiness  stole  over 
her  heart,  out  of  whose  depths  welled  up  fountains  of  a 
refreshing  joy.  She  thought  within  herself,  that  it  would 
be  but  a  little  time  before  she  would  know  all  these  new 


s 


THE    FIRST    SUNDAY.  103 

faces,  and  call  each  person  by  name,  hoping,  too,  to  call 
them  all  her  friends ;  and  her  feelings  led  her  along  into 
the  future  far  enough  to  picture  for  herself  many  and 
many  a  scene  of  happiness  in  their  midst,  of  which  at  this 
time  none  of  them  could  be.  thinking. 

When  they  reached  the  church  door,  she  knew  they  were 
all  regarding  her  with  a  heightened  interest,  not  to  give 
it  the  less  agreeable  namje  of  curiosity.  Her  eyes  met 
glances  from  them  on  every  side.-  Now  she  found  herself 
gazing  into  the  face  of  a  young  girl,  and  again  into  that 
of  a  soberer  matron.  There  was  something,  too,  in  their 
glances  that  rather  satisfied  her  thoughts.  They  looked 
like  kind-hearted  people,  who  had  generous  sentiments 
and  open  hands.  So  do  all  the  people  look  that  gather 
on  Sunday  beneath  the  shadows  of  our  country  churches. 
Even  if  much  of  it  proves  hollowness,  or  the  merest  false 
hood,  still  the  general  characteristics  are  carried  out  in 
their  first  promise.  »  • 

And  Amy  was  as  much  struck,  likewise,  with  the  sim 
plicity  and  neatness  of  their  costumes.  They  seemed  to 
express  just  the  outward  respect  for  the  Sabbath  which 
occurred  to  her  as  being  in  harmony  with  true  and  unaf 
fected  religious  feelings ;  not  at  all  too  studied  or  artifi 
cial,  and  none  too  careless  of  the  day  whose  worshipping 
hours  the  bell  was  ushering  in. 

Mrs.  Gummel  led  her  along  up  the  aisle,  and  opened 
the  door  of  her  pew.  But  Amy  insisted  on  Mrs.  Gum 
mel' s  going  in  first,  and  on  taking  her  own  place  nearer 


104  AMY    LEE. 

the  middle  of  the  seat.  And  Henry  entered  last,  and 
thoughtfully  buttoned  the  door. 

"While  the  bell  was  yet  tolling,  she  had  some  time  to 
see  the  faces  of  those  who  came  in.  She  had  seen  many 
of  them,  as  they  passed  the  windo'ws  of  Mrs.  Gummel, 
during  the  week,  and  now  began  to  recognize  them  again. 
The  front  pew  was  occupied  by  the  minister's  family. 
They  had  not  yet  come  in,  but  would  be  there  directly. 
Behind  the  clergyman's  seat,  two  or  three  pews  backward, 
sat  Mrs.  Brown,  a  woman  with  two  very  pretty  girls,  one 
on  each  side  of  her,  whose  husband  was  employed  as  an 
overseer  in  one  of  the  mills  below  the  village.  Mrs. 
Brown  was  a  good  faced  woman,  and  kept  looking  over  at 
Mrs.  Gummel's  pew,  and  finally  exchanged  nods  with  Mrs. 
Gummel,  as  much  as  to  say  that  she  was  glad  to  see  she 
had  brought  the  new  teacher  out  to  church. 

Over  against  the  wall  sat  Mr.  Marsh,  a  man  who  was 
reputed  to  be  very  well  off  for  a  farmer,  and  whose  means 
were  latterly  said  to  be  increasing  every  year.  He  was 
a  considerable  wool  grower,  and  travelled  a  great  deal  at 
some  seasons  of  the  year  to  effect  the  most  profitable  sales 
for  his  products.  He  carried  his  head,  which  was  a  little 
bald  on  the  top,  father  statelily,  and  wore  p,  pleasant  smile 
on  his  countenance  continually.  Amy  thought  he  had  an 
uncommonly  fatherly  look,  and  felt  her  heart  drawn  to 
him  as  to  a  person  of  large  and  most  humane  sympathies. 
Three  rather  small  children  sat  with  him,  his  wife  remain 
ing  at  home  to  look  after  the  still  unfinished  household 
duties. 


THE    FIKST    SUNDAY.  105 

And  there  was  the  honest  form  of  the  village  black 
smith,  whose  daughter  Mary  sat  in  the  church  choir, 
exactly  as  Longfellow  has  described  it  in  his  beautiful  and 
touching  ballad.  Mr.  Davy's  face  was  enough  of  itself 
to  invite  your  confidence.  He  had  a  hard  hand,  but  it 
was  an  honest  and  an  open  one,  every  body  said.  And  he 
had  a  rather  low  forehead,  with  black  hair,  and  heavy, 
dark  eyebrows. 

Glancing  still  farther  round  her,  Amy  saw  the  face  of 
Mrs.  Moore.  She  was  the  wife  of  the  storekeeper  in  the 
village,  and  was  looking  over  towards  Amy  with  a  good 
deal  of  earnestness.  Mrs.  Moore  wore  a  quite  stylish 
bonnet,  ornamented  with  a  profusion  of  high-colored  rib 
bons.  And  she  had  four  children  beside  her,  two  of 
whom  were  little  boys  with  flaxen  heads. 

There  sat  Mr*  Matson,  too,  supposed  to  be  the  richest 
man  of  all  in  the  village,  and  wearing  the  name  of  being 
the  greatest  miser  besides.  He  was  concerned  in  no  per? 
ceptible  business  just  at  that  time,  having  as  much  as  he 
wanted  to  do  in  studying  the  yearly  management  of  his 
stocks  and  bonds,  although  he  at  no  time  objected  to 
turning  a  quick  penny  when  the  opportunity  offered. 
Mr.  Matson  was  a  married  man,  but  he  had  no  children. 
Some  persons  used  to  say,  that  if  he  had  been  blessed 
with  them,  his  chief  regret  at  such  a  dispensation  would 
have  arisen  from  its  expensiveness.  But  that  might  be 
nothing  but  scandal. 

And  Mr.  Blossom  was   there,  and  his  family.     They 


106  AMY   LEE. 

jumbled  into  the  pew  as  if  they  were  in  a  hurry  lest  those 
who  got  in  last  would  be  obliged  to  stand  during  the  ser 
vices.  And  Mr.  Williams,  the  great  fruit  grower;  he 
raised  scores  of  bushels  of  choice  apples  for  the  market 
every  autumn.  And  in  one  pew  sat  a  lady  whom  Amy 
could  not  but  think  quite  different  in  the  tone  of  her 
manners  from  all  the  other  ladies  of  the  village.  She 
took  her  seat  near  the  head  of  the  pew,  while  the  young 
lady  who  accompanied  her  stationed  herself  nearer  the 
door.  And  as  the  latter  glanced  round  the  church,  on 
first  sitting  down,  Amy  thought  that  there  was  a  face  of 
peculiar  interest  and  beauty.  The  young  lady's  name 
was  Olive  Adams;  she  was  the  niece  of  the  lady  with 
whom  she  came  in,  whose  name  in  turn  was  Mrs.  Buccle- 
bee.  Mrs.  Bucclebee  was  a  lady  of  large  wealth,  whose 
husband  had  removed  to  Valley  Village  several  years 
before  for  the  sake  of  its  pleasant  retirement,  and  dying 
while  there,  had  left  her  a  childless  widow.  She  lived  a 
little  distance  out  of  the  village,  in  a  place  built  up  by 
the  taste  of  her  husband,  where  she  yearly  saw  a'  great 
many  old  friends  from  far  away  towns  and  cities,  and  tried 
to  enjoy  the  leisure  and  quiet  that  was  to  be  had  in  her 
present  retirement  without  interruption.  Olive  Adams 
Was  the  daughter  of  a  deceased  sister,  whom  she  had 
voluntarily  adopted  as  her  own  child,  and  on  whose 
development  she  looked  with  quite  as  much  pride  as 
affection. 

It  would  fill  the  book,  however,  to  specify  them  all. 


THE    FIEST    SUNDAY.  107 

Besides,  it  would  not  be  the  very  best  kind  of  occupation 
for  the  Sunday  morning  hour  to  run  through  the  list  of 
village  church  goers,  and  give  any  sort  of  a  description  of 
them.  And  as  it  was,  before  Amy's  casual  observations 
had  extended  any  farther,  Mr.  Parsons  and  his  family 
came  in.  He  assisted  them  into  the  pew,  fastened  the 
door,  and  proceeded  up  the  pulpit  stairs. 

I  will  not  dwell  particularly  on  every  portion  of  the 
public  worship  as  it  progressed,  for  my  good  readers  will 
assuredly  let  their  thoughts  run  far  before  .me  in  such  a 
description.  Amy  could  not  but  like  the  singing,  how 
ever.  The  choir  was  well  and  tastefully  made  up,  with 
clear  and  harmonious  voices..  And  they  sang  the  old  and 
time-honored  tunes,  than  which  none  better,  by  common 
consent,  have  been  composed  or  invented  since  the  early 
days  of  their  origin.  That  simple  music,  —  it  sounded  as 
if  it  might  indeed  be  heavenly.  How  it  floated  from  out 
the  church  over  the  silent  street,  waking  soft  and  worship 
ful  harmonies  every  where  !  What  a  sweet  and  singular 
power  lay  in  those  few  notes,  enough  to  enrapture  a  heart 
already  inclined  to  devotion,  and  fill  it  with  all  the  count 
less  melodies  of  lovely  thoughts  and  exalted  aspirations ! 
How  it  brooded  over  the  feelings  of  that  simple-minded 
congregation,  even  as  soft  and  golden  mists  brood  over 
the  laps  of  pleasant  valleys  ! 

The  clergyman's  discourses,  both  morning  and  after 
noon,  entirely  made  good  Amy's  first  prepossessions  in  his 
favor.  The  morning  sermon  was  on  the  subject  of  the 


108  AMY    LEE. 

opening  season ;  and  all  its  beautiful  thoughts  and  ador 
ing  expressions  fanned  the  feelings  of  Amy's  heart  into 
glowing  flames.  He  took  for  his  text  that  oft-quoted 
passage  in  Scripture,  "  He  hath  made  every  thing  beauti 
ful  in  its  time." 

>  After  a  general  and  a  rather  poetic  exordium,  he  went 
on  with  a  minute  and  lively  description  of  the  opening 
spring  and  summer.  He  entered  at  once  into  the  subject 
with  his  whole  heart.  He  spoke  of  the  earliest  and  most 
welcome  signs  of  spring,  such  as  the  whistle  of  the  frogs 
at  the  marsh,  and  the  first  notes  of  the  returned  robin, 
and  described  the  new  joys  even  those  faint  and  trifling 
sounds  awoke  in  the  human  breast,  that  was  always  pre 
pared  to  greet  them.  Then  he  entered,  with  the  expan 
sion  of  his  subject,  upon  a  view  of  the  world  after  the 
influences  of  the  summer  had  really  begun  to  reign ;  how 
the  sun  was  pleasant  to  the  bodily  feelings,  and  did  not 
fail  even  to  warm  the  genial  soil  of  the  heart ;  how  the 
frequent  showers  opened  the  warmed  earth,  fertilizing  the 
furrows  from  the  very  clouds  that  thus  literally  dropped 
fatness ;  how  the  grass  grew  dark  and  thick,  and  began  to 
wave  in  the  rolling  billows  of  the  wind,  ready  for  the 
glittering  scythe  of  the  mower ;  how  the  cattle  straggled 
every  where  over  the  green  pasture  lands,  and  the  hill 
sides  were  white  with  the  heavy  fleeces  of  sheep  ;  how  the 
flowers  climbed  about  the  doors  and  windows  of  one's 
dwelling,  and  gemmed  the  meadows  like  stars  in  a  vast 
heaven,  and  fringed  the  flowing  courses  of  the  living  water 


THE    FIRST    SUNDAY.  109 

brooks  ;  how  the  trees  were  full  of  singing  birds,  that 
mingled  their  songs  with  the  ravishing  fragrance  of  the 
blossoms,  and  heightened  their  bright  and  indescribable 
beauty  with  the  many  colors  of  their  own  brilliant  plu 
mage  ;  and  how  both  heaven  above  and  earth  beneath 
answered  each  to* the  other  in  unfolding  and  illustrating 
the  vast  love  of  God  for  his  whole  creation. 

Thence  he  passed  on  in  glowing  language  to  descant 
upon  the  need  there  was  that  we  should  all  have  grati 
tude  ;  that  love  should  continually  abound  within  us,  and 
increase  towards  God  and  towards  man  forevermore  ;  that 
we  should  become  more  and  more  childlike,  and  truthful, 
and  humble,  never  setting  up  our  own  desires  against  the 
higher  and  better  laws  of  the  God  who  rules  over  us  and 
in  us ;  and,  finally,  that  we  should  seek  and  pray  for 
nothing  so  much  as  faith  —  that  faith  which  taught  us 
to  lie  low  and  obedient  in  the  Lord's  vast  power,  ascrib 
ing  evermore  to  him  the  glory,  because  by  every  means 
he  has  thus  clearly  revealed  to  us  his  blessed  purposes 
and  grace. 

The  appeal  with  which  his  discourse  closed  was  so  feel 
ing  and  eloquent  as  to  send  a  thrill  of  glad  emotion  to 
many  a  bosom  in  that  little  country  church,  and  make 
them  desire  a  closer  walk  all  their  days  with  God,  and  a 
calmer,  more  peaceful,  more  thoroughly  religious  frame  of 
mind.  Not  that  Mr.  Parsons  was  a  man  who  prided  him 
self  on  the  possession  of  so  rare  a  gift  as  eloquence,  or 
scarcely  was  conscious  of  even  possessing  that  quality ;  for 
10 


110  AMY   LEE. 

had  such  a  pride  stepped  into  his  heart,  that  moment  the 
true  gift  would  have  departed  ;  it  does  not  dwell  with 
presumption,  and  will  never  consent  to  take  up  its  abode 
with  vanity.  But  he  was  so  simple,  and  earnest,  and 
childlike  in  his  feelings,  his  sympathies  were  always  so 
acute  and  active  both  with  outward  and  inward  nature,  he 
let  his  thoughts  run  the  round  of  all  the  better  and  pro- 
founder  emotions  of  the  human  heart  so  easily,  that  his 
eloquence  was  no  more  than  the  simplest  report,  made 
with  all  joyfulness,  of  his  insight  into  what  other  men  are 
still  willing  to  call  mysteries,  and  still  willing  not  to  know 
except  from  the  moving  lips  of  those  who  now  and  then 
address  them. 

The  evening  seemed  to  Amy  a  calm  and  holy  time 
indeed.  -  All  labor  had  ceased  for  so  long ;  the  street  was 
so  quiet  and  calm ;  the  twilight  had  come  down  with 
such  a  sense  of  sweet  joy  and  peace ;  the  hands  of  care 
seemed  folded  so  resignedly  in  the  lap  of  labor ;  there 
were  so  many  silent  influences  stealing  from  the  land 
scape,  from  the  air,  from  the  stillness  itself  in  which  the 
thoughts  half  slept,  —  that  Amy  felt  that  if  this  was 
one  of  the  blessed  enjoyments  of  the  country  life,  it  was 
truly  worth  quite  all  the  pleasures  of  the  uneasy  town 
together. 

And  she  laid  her  head  that  night  on  her  pillow,  glad 
beyond  her  ability  to  express  it  that  her  lines  hud  at  last 
fallen  to  her  in  such  pleasant  places.  Her  soul  was  filled 
with  gratefulness  and  love ;  and  these  would  perpetually 


THE    FIRST    SUNDAY.  Ill 

overflow  their  boundaries,  and  make  green  and  new  the 
influences  that  would  go  unseen  out  of  her  heart  during 
all  the  days,  and  weeks,  and  months  of  her  abode  in  this 
quiet  and  happy  place. 


CHAPTER    X. 
OPENING  SCHOOL. 

MONDAY  morning  came  ;  and  with  key  in  hand,  —  the 
key  to  that  same  padlock  Mr.  Parsons  was  inclined  to 
make  so  much  fun  about,  —  Amy  walked  with  a  pleasant 
countenance  over  to  the  school  house,  and  opened  the 
door  that  was  to  let  her  in  to  her  summer  labors. 

As  soon  as  she  stepped  across  the  threshold,  she  seemed 
to  breathe  the  mixed  atmosphere  of  all  the  winter  and 
summer  schools  that  had  been  kept  there  before  she  had 
even  heard  of  such  a  nook  as  Valley  Village.  The  room 
was  close  and  musty.  She  bustled  round  immediately, 
and  opened  every  window;  and  as  the  door  still  stood 
wide  open  in  the  entry,  she  felt  certain  of  securing  a 
freshening  draught  of  air.  The  benches  she  proceeded  to 
arrange  over  again,  so  as  to  answer  more  conveniently  the 
designs  of  her  government  economy.  And,  finally,  after 
all  things  had  been  fixed  to  her  mind,  she  passed  a  little 
time  in  pacing  up  and  down  the  floor,  looking  now  at  the 
ceiling  and  cobwebs,  and  now  out  the  windows  over  the 
fields  and  distant  gardens. 

In  the  course  of  that  short  and  solitary  walk,  she 

(112) 


OPENING    SCHOOL.  113 

reviewed  the  way  of  her  life  and  fortunes  since  the  death 
of  her  father  with  much  thoughtfulness  and  care.  From 
the  point  to  which  her  mind  would  continually  revert  with 
such  persistence,  she  went  forward  slowly  through  the 
armies  of  fears  and  anxieties  that  afterwards  beleaguered 
her  soul,  sweeping  the  many  chords  of  feeling  that  had 
vibrated  sadly  and  sorrowfully  since  that  dark  day,  re 
hearsing  the  little  histories  of  her  plans,  and  hopes,  and 
designs,  and  desires,  coming  along  on  her  journey  again 
to  this  same  Valley  Village,  where  she  now  found  herself 
waiting  to  begin  her  first  day  of  usefulness"^  "and  at  last 
devoutly  thanking  her  kind  heavenly  Father  thatfhe  had 
itill  provided  for  her,  and  had  never  ceased  to  remember 
tier  as  one  of  his  own  created  children. 

The  tears  stole  into  her  eyes,  through  whose  dim  veil 
she  still  regarded"  the  promising  landscape.  "  O,  if  I  can 
but  do  the  whole  of  my  duty!"  said  she  within  herself. 
"  If  I  do  not  come  short  in  the  very  least  of  my  promises ! 
If  I  can  but  go  on  in  perfect  trust  and  peace  from  day  to 
day,  pursuing  my  humble  occupation  in  the  spirit  of  love, 
looking  for  my  only  reward  in  the  good  itself  that  will 
flow  from  my  faith  and  obedience." 

And' her  heart  offered  a  silent,  but  fervent  supplication, 
praying  God,  her  Father,  to  bestow  on  her  the  spirit  whose 
Jjruit  was  nothing  but  goodness,  and  gentleness,  and  love. 
This  was,  in  truth,  the  opening  prayer  of  her  little  school 
—  a  silent  prayer,  offered  in  solitude,  while  her  feet 
walked  slowly  the  floor  of  that  quiet  school  house. 
10* 


114  AMY    LEE. 

Presently  she  saw  a  shadow  fall  across  the  threshold ; 
then  two ;  then  three  ;  and  then  a  whole  nest  and  knot 
of  shadows.  She  stepped  towards  the  door,  and  a  snarl 
of  happy  faces  saluted  her  with  looks  of  joy. 

"  Good  morning !  good  morning,  dears  !  "  Amy  called 
to  them,  extending  both  hands  with  gladness.  "  Come  ; 
won't  you  come  in  and  stay  with  me  this  forenoon,  and 
see  what  we  can  learn  all  together  ?  Come  !  "  And  the 
little  ones,  who  happened  to  be  every  one  girls,  glanced 
round  smiling  on  each  other,  and  then  stepped,  half  tim 
idly,  half  roguishly,  in. 

"  Now  we'll  have  a  nice  time  of  it  —  won't  we  ?  "  said 
Amy,  her  own  beautiful  face  attracting  them  to  her  even 
more  than  her  words.  "  Come ;  let's  take  off  our  things, 
—  you  see  I've  got  mine  off,  —  and  then  we  will  all  sit 
down  and  tell  who  we  are,  and  what  we  have,  come  to 
school  for,  and  if  we  are  going  to  love  each  other  all 
summer  long,  and  where  we  live,  and  every  thing  about 
it.  Come,  little  girls,  let  me  take  off  your  hoods  and 
shawls." 

She  began  the  work  by  disrobing  the  one  next  her  ;  but 
no  sooner  did  they  see  what  was  to  be  done,  than  the  rest 
performed  each  one  the  task  for  herself,  smiling  the  while 
at  one  another,  as  if  in  a  long  time  they  had  enjoyed 
nothing  better. 

"  Now  we  will  sit  down,"  Amy  directed,  pointing  to 
the  vacant  benches.  "There 4  that  is  very  pleasant  and 
pretty.  I  think  we  shall  have  a  nice  time  of  it  yet." 


OPENING    SCHOOL.  115 

And  again  the  little  ones  looked  at  each  other  and 
laughed. 

While  she  stood  before  them  all,  talking  to  them  in 
the  kindest  and  sweetest  tones,  telling  them  what  they 
had  come  there  for,  and  what  she  was  going  to  do,  too, 
and  successfully  interesting  them  beyond  what  she  had  at 
first  dared  to  hope  for,  others  entered  the  room,  boys  and 
girls  together,  the  former  standing  foremost  in  the  little 
groups,  while  the  latter  were  modestly  leaning  against  the 
benches  or  the  wall.  And  these  she  welcomed  as  fast  as 
they  came,  assisting  them  to  take  off  their  caps  and  bon 
nets,  and  laying  her  hands  gently  on"  their  heads,  and  by 
her  looks  and  words  trying  to  impress  them  with  the  love 
she  felt  for  them  all.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  those  who 
came  last  were  as  well  received  and  as  much  delighted  as 
those  who  had  got  there  before  them.  So  agreeable  did 
Amy  try  to  make  every  thing  seem  in  their  eyes,  they 
hardly  felt  that  they  were  in  that  usually  forbidding  place 
called  a  school  room,  but  rather  that  they  had  got  together 
there  to  have  a  good  time  of  it,  and  very  likely  —  as  mat 
ters  at  first  looked  —  to  wind  up  with  broken  crockery 
housekeeping,  and  a  general  tea  drink  off  of  bits  of  glis 
tening  china. 

Amy  had  as  fine  tact  as  feeling.  She  knew  how  im 
portant  it  was  to  enlist  the  affections  of  her  little  school, 
first  of  all.  If  she  could  rely  upon  their  love,  she  was 
certain  that  the  most  difficult  part  of  her  work  was 
already  done. 


116  AMY    LEE. 

Among  those  present,  she  found  the  children  of  many 
of  the  parents  whom  she  had  seen  at  church  the  day 
before  ;  indeed,  she  recognized  the  faces  of  many  of  the 
children  themselves.  There  were  those  of  Mr.  Brown,  the 
overseer  in  the  mills ;  and  all  three  of  Mr.  Marsh,  the 
farmer ;  and  two  of  the  blacksmith,  Mr.  Davy,  whose 
anvil  was  undoubtedly  ringing  at  that  moment  with  the 
hearty  strokes  of  his  hammer;  and  all  four  of  tl^e  store 
keeper,  Mr.  Moore  ;  and  the  only  little  girl  of  Dr.  Sill- 
by  ;  and Well,  not  to  enumerate  them  one  by  one, 

Amy  found  that  she  could  count  sixteen;  and  sixteen 
was  a  highly  promising  number,  too,  she  thought,  to  make 
a  beginning  with.  Her  heart  rejoiced,  on  looking  round 
upon  her  little  flock ;  and  she  knew  how  many  kind  and 
generous  words  the  good  clergyman  and  his  wife  had 
spoken  for  her  through  the  village. 

The  forenoon  slipped  away  before  she  was  aware  of  it. 
Those  three  hours  of  the  morning,  that  sometimes  drag  so 
slowly  for  many  and  many  an  instructor,  for  Amy  were 
crowded  with  real  delight.  She  thought  she  should  ex 
aggerate  in  no  wise,  nor  affect  in  the  least  a  happiness 
that  she  did  not  possess,  if  she  confessed  that  those  three 
first  hours  of  her  school-keeping  life  were  the  pleasantest 
she  had  known  in  -a  long,  long  time. 

When  the  village  bell  rung  for  noon,  she  found  a  row 
of  eager  eyes  glistening  all  round  the  room  in  expecta 
tion  of  release ;  and  she  dismissed  them  with:  a  pleasant 
word,  bidding  them  come  early  to  school  again  in  the. 


OPENING    SCHOOL.  117 

afternoon,  and  wishing  them  a  happy  play  time  during 
the  intermission.  And  Amy  went  home  herself  to  din 
ner,  scarcely  conscious  whether  she  walked  or  ran  all 
the  way. 

"  How  do  you  come  on  ? "  Mrs.  Gummel  asked  her, 
with  a  face  expressive  of  the  deepest  interest  in  her  un 
dertaking. 

"  O,  so  famously !  You  ought  to  drop  in  and  see  for 
yourself  what  a  perfect  queen  I  am  there  among  my  little 
subjects." 

"  Well,  well,  if  I  ain't  glad  enough  for  it !  But  how 
many  of  them  did  you  get  together  this  morning  ? "  she 
pursued.  "What  number  do  you  count,  to  begin  with?  " 

"  Sixteen,"  answered  Amy,  her  eyes  dilating  with  pleas 
ure.  "  Only  think  of  it,  Mrs.  Gummel." 

So  Mrs.  Gummel  did  stand  a  moment,  and  did  think 
of  it.  At  length  she  seemed  to  comprehend  the  whole  of 
the  matter,  and  exclaimed  to  Amy,  extending  her  left 
hand  towards  her  as  she  spoke,  — 

"  That's  a  good  beginning,  Miss  Lee.  That's  really 
better  than  I  dared  to  hope  for." 

And  with  a  few  additional  words  of  a  congratulatory 
character,  she  begged  her  to  sit  down  with  herself  and 
Henry  to  dinner,  for  it  was  quite  ready. 

Not  long  after  dinner,  —  for  Amy  felt  as  if  she  could 
net  stay  at  home  quietly  while  she  was  so  deeply  inter 
ested  in  her  new  charge,  —  she  threw  on  her  shawl  and 
bonnet  again,  and  hurried  away  to  her  occupation.  As 


118  AMY   LEE. 

she  drew  near  the  old  school  house,  she  saw  her  little 
flock  at  play  about  the  building  —  the  girls,  some  of 
them,  at  mimic  housekeeping  under  one  of  the  brown 
stone  walls,  and  the  boys  at  more  active  games  on  the 
turf.  Their  faces  were  glowing  with  health  and  happi 
ness.  As  soon  as  they  caught  sight  of  her,  they  involun 
tarily  ceased  from  their  more  boisterous  sport,  and  stood 
around  seemingly  in  doubt  whether,  to  be  more  pleased 
or  afraid  at  her  approach.  They  did  not  yet  fully  under 
stand  her  nature. 

Amy  was  quick  to  perceive  their  hesitancy,  and  not  less 
quick  to  set  their  feelings  in  motion  again  in  the  right 
direction.  So  she  went  round  among  the  various  groups, 
asking  them  what  they  were  playing  at,  putting  her  hand 
beneath  some  few  of  their  dimpled  chins  to  get  a  better 
view  of  their  bright  faces,  telling  them  that  some  day  she 
meant  to  come  out  herself  and  romp  with  them  a  little 
while,  and  offering  such  remarks  as  would  naturally  be 
most  pleasing  and  conciliatory  to  them. 

And  after  she  had  gone  into  her  school  room,  even,  she 
was  obliged  by  the  beautiful  attractiveness  of  the  sight  to 
pause  before  a  window,  and  regard  them  at  their  enjoy 
ment.  She  thought  of  her  own  childhood,  lost  in  the  past 
forever ;  that  glowing  season  of  life,  when  there  is  nothing 
but  a  warm  and  bursting  imagination  to  sketch  the  world 
with  so  attractively ;  that  time  of  pomps  and  shows,  ever 
more  marching  in  stately  and  bewildering  procession  for 
ward  —  forward  —  we  know  not  and  think  not  whither. 


OIENING    SCHOOL.  119 

Many  were  the  lights,  and  many,  too,  the  shadows,  that 
sailed  like  straggling  clouds  at  that  moment  over  the 
heaven  of  her  soul.  She  could  easily  go  back  —  0,  so 
easily  !  But  to  come  forward,  to  hurry  on,  to  leave  the 
beautiful  and  romantic  past  behind,  and  to  realize  that  it 
was  all  —  all  gone,  and  she  at  this  very  moment  stand 
ing  in  the  midst  of  hearts  as  young  as  hers  had  been, — 
standing  among  them,  not  to  romp  and  play  in  the  gentle 
spring  winds,  as  they  were  playing,  but  to  teach  them  to 
regard  her  as  their  instructor,  as  gifted  with  a  wisdom  and 
an  experience  that  did  not  belong  at  all  to  them,  —  this 
was  a  something  to  call  up  her  deepest  feelings  from  their 
wonted  hiding-places,  and  almost  extort  a  sigh  that  these 
.blessed  days  had  departed  forever. 

Presently,  to  break  the  web  of  these  sadly  delicious 
feelings,  she  stepped  to  the  door  and  called  them  in. 
There  was  not  one,  she  observed  with  pleasure,  who  hesi 
tated  or  delayed  as  soon  as  the  call  was  given.  They 
came  trooping  in  through  the  little  door,sfairly  surround 
ing  her.  Their  eyes  were  glistening ;  their  faces  were 
ruddy  and  glowing  ;  they  were  smiling  and  laughing  with 
•  one  another ;  and  the  best  of  humor  seemed  to  prevail 
among  them  all. 

Soon  after  seating  them,  and  when  they  had  managed 
to  get  rested  a  little  from  the  fatigue  of  their  playground 
sports,  Amy  stepped  to  the  front  of  them,  and  gave  notice 
that  she  was  going  to  teach  them  to  sing.  This  intelli 
gence  was  received  immediately  with  marked  evidences 


120  AMY   LEE. 

of  delight.  She  saw  she  had  struck  the  right  chord,  and 
knew  that  harmony  would  come  out  of  it.  And  in  the 
course  of  the  afternoon,  she  began  that  series  of  primary 
lessons  in  vocal  music,  which  eventuated  in  so  much  good 
to  her  youthful  pupils,  and  such  increased  happiness  to 
herself. 

At  nearly  the  close  of  the  afternoon  exercises,  the  min 
ister  came  in.  He  told  Amy  he  had  merely  called  to  see 
what  success  she  started  with,  and  to  help  her  on  in  her 
undertaking  with  a  pleasant  word  or  two.  She  thanked 
him  many  times  for  the  kind  interest  he  had  taken  in  her 
welfare,  adding  that  it  was  her  intention  to  stop  at  the 
parsonage  on  her  way  home  at  night,  and  inform  him  of 
the  exact  state  of  things.  Both  agreed  that  so  good  a 
beginning  was  sufficient  cause  for  self-congratulation,  and 
highly  encouraging  for  continued  effort. 

Then  Mr.  Parsons  —  whose  appearance  among  them  the 
children  all  seemed  to  welcome  with  unaffected  pleasure  — 
proceeded  to  talk  with  them  while  they  were  sitting  on 
the  benches,  and  to  tell  them  the  reason  why  their  mothers 
and  fathers  sent  them  to  school,  and  to  explain  why  they 
ought  to  love  their  teacher  and  each  other. 

And  he  went  on  in  that  agreeable  strain  to  them,  illus 
trating  his  remarks  by  pleasant  stories  and  most  apt  anec 
dotes,  showing  what  the  worth  of  knowledge  was  to  every 
one;  and  how  little  it  was  worth,  too,  without  a  kind 
temper,  a  sweet  and  gentle  disposition,  and  a  pure  and 
noble  heart.  "  Unless  your  heart  is  educated,"  he  said  to 


OPENING    SCHOOL.  121 

them,  "  all  the  education  you  can  give  your  head  will  but 
serve  at  length  to  make  you  more  -wretched  and  misera 
ble."  Mr.  Parsons  was  one  of  the  clear-sighted  men  in 
this  world  who  understand  how  much  greater  the  soul  is 
than  the  mere  intellect,  and  how  like  a  disease  the  culture 
only  of  the  latter  in  time  grows  to  be. 

At  the  close  of  the  school  hours,  therefore,  he  offered  a 
brief  and  feeling  prayer  before  the  pupils,  and  they  re 
ceived  their  dismissal.  There  was  many  a  one  who  said 
aloud,  on  getting  out  into  the  open  air  again,  "  I  shall 
come  all  the  time  Miss  Lee  keeps."  And  many  a  one 
reported  in  an  excited  manner  to  his  or  her  parents  that 
night  of  the  delight  they  experienced  in  that  first  day's 
schooling  under  the  new  teacher. 

Amy  and  the  clergyman  walked  slowly  homewards, 
conversing  upon  the  promises  and  prospects.  Not  a  sin 
gle  proper  opportunity  did  she  suffer  to  pass  unimproved, 
that  allowed  her  to  express  in  any  way  her  gratefulness 
to  him  for  his  sympathy  and  counsel.  Already,  as  they 
walked  on,  she  felt  as  if  she  had  known  him  for  years. 
It  suggested  itself  to  her  thoughts  that  she  had  found  a 
valuable  friend  where  she  had  least  been  looking  for  one. 
While  she  was  oppressed  in  secret  with  the  haunting  fears 
of  loneliness  and  friendlessness,  she  made  the  discovery 
that  the  best  of  friends  had  suddenly  been  raised  up  for 
her  on  every  side.  And  in  deep  thankfulness  her  heart 
lifted  itself  to  God,  ascribing  to  him  the  welcome,  wel 
come  whole. 

11 


122  AMY    LEE. 

Leaving  Mr.  Parsons  at  his  own  gate,  she  tripped 
along  over  the  grassy  street  with  a  light  foot  and  a  much 
lighter  heart.  She  felt  as  if  joy  was  all  around  and 
within  her.  She  loved  every  one  whom  she  in  that 
tumultuous  moment  could  think  of.  She  would  have 
embraced  all  her  friends,  all  the  world,  and  called  them 
each  one  "dear  brother"  and  "dear  sister."  As  her 
eyes  chased  the  colors  that  streamed  in  such  delicate  tints 
along  the  sky,  or  lost  their  glances  in  amazing  bewilder 
ment  among  the  green  sprays  of  the  trees  that  lined  the 
village  street,  or  looked  down  to  admire  the  soft  carpet 
of  grass  that  Nature  had  spread  so  carefully  for  her  feet, 
she  wished  for  nothing  but  to  clasp  her  hands  together  in 
ecstatic  delight,  and  pray  that  all  the  world  might  be  as 
happy  as  she. 

Mrs.  Gummel  and  Henry  both  received  her  narratives 
respecting  this  auspicious  day's  labor  with  a  great  deal 
of  interest ;  the  former  —  good  woman !  —  continually 
interrupting  Amy  with  such,  rapid  and  fervent  exclama 
tions  of  joy  as  came  first  to  her  tongue.  She  said  she 
could  not  really  have  believed  that  Amy  was  to  have 
such  good  luck  at  the  very  beginning  of  it ;  and  yet  she 
always  knew  that  the  people  of  Valley  Village  were  not  a 
kind  that  would  let  such  a  needful  enterprise  as  this  go 
a-begging. 

And  between  congratulations  and  plans,  sketching  out 
lines  of  what  was  to  come,  and  dwelling  thankfully  upon 
what  had  already  occurred,  the  evening  soon  passed  away. 


OPENING    SCHOOL.  123 

prayers  that  night  camo  from  a  heart  filled  with 
a  joy  that  was  unspeakable  ;  for  she  felt  as  for  a  long 
time  the  weakness  of  our  poor  humanity  would  not  let 
her  feel  —  that  God  had  indeed  drawn  very  nigh  her  with 
his  all-providing,  all-protecting  hand. 


CHAPTER   XI. 
LEAVES  FROM  A  JOURNAL. 

FOB  some  little  time  past  Amy  had  kept  a  journal ; 
over  which  she  sat  down  at  her  table,  and  from  day  to 
day  indulged  in  the  pleasure  of  a  free  and  untrammelled 
intercourse  with  herself;  making  for  her  own  eye  alone 
such  confessions  as  her  heart  daily  had  to  give  up,  and 
mingling  wish  with  experience,  prayer  with  regrets,  and 
speculation  with  fresh  narrative  so  intricately,  that  in 
order  to  get  at  the  one  it  was  necessary  to  read  it  page  by 
page,  keeping  swift  company  with  her  changing  thoughts 
and  feelings. 

I  shall  assume  the  liberty  of  believing  that  occasional 
extracts  from  this  journal  will  be  welcome  to  the  readers 
of  this  narrative  of  her  experiences ;  much  more  so, 
indeed,  than  the  mere  history  which  my  own  pen  has  at 
tempted  to  delineate,  inasmuch  as  the  former  are  brought 
away  directly  from  her  innermost  life  and  from  the  depths 
pf  her  being. 

Such  extracts  as  the  following  are  presented  to  the 
reader  in  this  place  :  — 

(124) 


LEAVES   FROM   A   JOURNAL  125 

"  Sunday  night.  This  is  my  first  Sunday  in  this  little 
village.  If  I  only  liked  it  before,  I  must  confess  I  am  in 
love  with  it  now. 

"  Went  to  church  all  day,  and  enjoyed  exceedingly  the 
devotional  exercises.  The  discourses  from  the  clergyman 
—  Mr.  Parsons  —  were  most  excellent.  The  one  in  the 
forenoon  took  hold  upon  my  feelings  in  particular.  He 
gave  us  such  beautifully  flowing  descriptions  of  God's 
unmeasured  goodness,  as  discoverable  in  the  world  about 
us,  I  almost  wished  he  would  go  on  in  that  strain  till 
nightfall.  His  burning  words  moved  and  melted  me. 
When  I  brought  home  to  my  own  heart  so  many  proofs 
of  its  thankless  feelings,  of  its  forge tfulness  of  Him  who 
sustains  me  from  hour  to  hour  and  day  to  day,  of  its  dis 
position  to  rise  up  and  desire  for  itself  a  good  that  is  at 
war  with  his  most  fatherly  designs,  I  saw  too  plainly  in 
what  a  slough  of  despondency  I  should  always  lie,  unable 
to  help  myself  in  the  least  out  of  its  treacherous  depths, 
unless  I  corrected  my  former  thought  at  once,  and  ac 
knowledged  only  him  to  be  my  Lord  and  Father. 

"  O  the  power  and  the  beauty  with  which  the  outer 
world  testifies  to  the  benevolence  of  God !  If  we  would 
but  behold  and  read  the  pages  that  are  written  thickly 
with  lessons  for  us  on  every  hand  !  If  we  would  put  off 
this  vanity,  this  selfishness,  this  feeling  that  we  are  some 
thing  of  ourselves,  and  become  learners  like  little  children ; 
live  only  the  life  that  a  deep  and  holy  faith  directs ;  cease 
to  be  proud  of  our  own  external  possessions,  or  our  inter* 
11* 


126  AMY   LEE. 

Hal  attainments,  feeling  that  we  can  be  nothing  and  do 
nothing  except  the  Father  shines  through  us  ;  learn,  first 
of  all,  faith,  and  then  love,  and  then  patience,  —  how  much 
more  spiritual  indeed  would  the  world  become,  producing 
works  that  would  more  and  more  abound  to  its  own  glory 
and  the  glory  of  the  Father ! 

"  I  am  sitting  alone  to-night  in  my  little  chamber,  with 
nothing  to  interrupt  the  course  of  my  thoughts.  They 
will  take  me  back  and  away  to  the  other  times,  and  the 
other  scenes,  but  the  sorrow  does  not  darken ;  it  only 
shades.  I  repose  so  joyfully  at  this  hour  in  the  arms  of 
my  ynd  Father,  no  earthly  dispensation  can  make  my 
heart  rebellious  against  Him  by  whose  ordering  it  is.  I 
feel  that  what  is  for  my  good  will  surely  come  to  me  ;  and 
none  the  less  shall  I  greet  it  because  I  do  not  follow  my 
own  short-seeing  desires  in  its  pursuit.  God  knows,  and 
God  orders.  I  am  assured  that  'he  doeth  all  things  well.' 

"  This  sweet  little  village  I  trust  I  may  find  a  nursery 
for  my  better  thoughts.  The  silence  that  perpetually 
reigns  about  the  place,  broken  only  by  the  occasional 
shouts  of  glad  children,  is  very  sweet  indeed  to  me.  I 
am  glad  to  be  rid  of  the  stunning  rattle  of  carts,  and  the 
cry  of  strange  voices.  This  brooding  stillness  is  like  a 
balm ;  and  I  know  it  will  heal  a  spirit  that  has  already 
been  wounded  as  mine  has.  I  always  had  a  desire  to  taste 
the  pleasures  of  a  rural  life,  and  at  last  I  am  gratified. 
But  in  no  one  thing  have  I  yet  been  able  to  see  such  a 
marked  difference  between  the  city  and  the  country  as  in 


LEAYES  FROM:  A  JOURNAL.  127 

the  observance  of  this  day  that  has  drawn  to  its  close. 
Here  Sunday  is  truly  a  blessed  and  a  beautiful  time.  It 
forms  a  festival  day  indeed  for  the  soul.  I  have  had  such 
feelings  stirred  within  me  by  what  I  have  seen  and  been 
surrounded  with  to-day,  as  I  never  thought  belonged  to 
my  being.  The  stillness  seems  so  holy.  The  very  at 
mosphere  encircles  you  with  a  spirit  of  praise  and  prayer. 
"  Monday  night.  It  is  quiet  every  wrhere.  I  do  not 
hear  so  much  as  a  sound  all  over  the  street.  When  I  put 
aside  my  curtains  to  look  out  the  window,  I  can  see  three 
or  four  lights  on  the  opposite  side,  half  concealed  by  the 
thickening  foliage  of  the  trees  ;  and  I  think  of  those  who 
are  sitting  by  them,  either  reading,  or  chatting,  or  sewing. 
These  are  pleasant  sights  to  eyes  that  delight  to  look  into 
human  hearts.  They  draw  me  more  than  crowds,  or  art 
ful  pictures,  or  tumultuous  enjoyments.  About  many  a 
table,  I  know,  are  gathered  the  loving  inmates  of  these 
households,  whose  thoughts  are  knit  closely  in  bands  of 
affection.  They  are  talking  with  one  another  at  this  very 
hour  of  what  has  been  done  through  the  day,  what  is 
purposed  for  the  morrow,  and  of  how  deep  is  their  simple 
devotion  each  to  the  other.  I  always  thought  I  should 
love  this  calm  way  of  life ;  but  I  was  not  prepared  to  find 
such  abundant  resources  of  enjoyment  in  it.  I  am  taught 
how  little  and  false  is  much  of  what  we  deem  happiness 
in  the  world,  when  it  is  looked  for  in  outward  shows  and 
external  circumstances.  How  deep,  how  vast,  how  rich, 
and  how  exhaustless  are  the  resources  of  the  inner  lifr,  I 


128  AMY    LEE. 

cannot  tell ;  I  am  made  glad  beyond  utterance  in  being 
allowed  to  catch  only  a  glimpse  of  them.  I  long,  I  love, 
I  hope,  I  aspire,  in  the  light  of  these  entrancing  gleams 
from  heaven,  and  pray  with  all  my  heart  that  it  may  all 
—  all  become  real  and  earnest  in  my  daily  life  and  con 
versation. 

"  This  is  the  first  day  of  my  little  school.  I  have  now 
begun  a  project  that  is  to  occupy  my  attention  for  the 
entire  summer ;  if  circumstances  favor,  I  may  even  be 
induced  to  keep  this  present  retirement  for  a  much  longer 
time.  I  have  had  more  pupils  than  I  at  first  thought  I 
should  get,  and  try  to  be  accordingly  grateful.  Good  Mr. 
Parsons  and  his  wife  have  done  a  great  deal  more  for  me 
than  I  asked,  and  more  than  I  shall  ever  repay.  They 
have  gone  about  themselves  with  my  proposal  to  open  a 
school  in  the  village,  and  laid  it  before  all  the  families 
where  there  were  any  children  to  send.  And  the  result 
is  what  I  have  seen  to-day.  How  happy  this  kindness 
has  made  me  !  It  opens  to  my  sight  visions  of  dear, 
delightful  friendships  such  as  I  have  not  before  in  my 
whole  sflort  life  experienced.  And  Mr.  Parsons  further 
showed  the  interest  he  took  in  my  new  enterprise,  by 
walking  over  to  the  school  house  this  afternoon,  and  drop 
ping  a  few  words  of  kindness  both  for  my  pupils  and 
myself. 

"  This  school  keeping  is  going  to  be  a  delightful  task 
to  me,  I  know.  I  love  so  much  the  society  of  fresh  and 
innocent  children.  They  make  my  thoughts  sweet  and 


LEAVES    FROM    A   JOURNAL.  129 

clean,  and  my  heart  pure.  From  their  childish  talk  I 
learn  simplicity ;  and  truth  seems  a  possession  that  enters 
not  into  the  soul  without  this  first  condition  of  simplicity. 

"  Yet  there  is  some  sort  of  a  sadness  connected  with 
this  occupation,  or  at  least  with  my  earliest  experience  in 
it,  that  will  not  wholly  take  its  shadow  off  my  feelings. 
How  can  I  forget  for  a  single  moment  ?  How  can  I  ever 
allow  myself  to  pass  over  the  days  that  are  gone  ?  How 
can  I  cease  to  remember,  when  memory  is  always  so 
active,  and  sketches  its  pictures  so  vividly  ? 

"  I  cannot  look  in  the  faces  of  these  dear  children  of 
mine  —  for  I  must  begin  now  to  call  them  mine  —  with 
out  feeling  a  strange  sensation  that  my  own  childhood  is 
gone.  It  is  difficult  exactly  to  realize  that  such  is  the 
truth.  And  yet  it  is  not  because  of  my  dissatisfaction 
with  the  new  positions  into  which  each  new  day  seems  to 
lead  me ;  I  am  calm,  and  contented,  and,  I  trust  for  my 
self,  entirely  happy.  I  entertain  no  fears_  for  the  future, 
for  I  am  well  assured  that  He  who  has  created  me  and 
brought  me  thus  far  in  safety  will  provide ;  if  I  do  but 
work  and  live,  work  and  live  in  this  faith,  what  is  there 
that  I  should  have  reason  to  fear  ? 

"  But  these  dancing  pictures  of  childhood  will  work  a 
mysterious  influence.  Even  while  they  steal  over  my 
thought  with  their  strange  sadness,  they  likewise  fascinate 
beyond  description.  I  love  to  stand  by  the  window,  as.  I 
did  this  day,  and  watch  the  little  ones  at  play  on  the  grass 
about  the  school  house  door.  I  love  to  listen  to  their 


130  AMY    LEE. 

merry  voices,  so  clear,  so  free  from  deceit  and  distrust,  so 
full  of  a  whole-hearted  innocence  !  I  love  to  look  into 
their  guileless  faces,  and  study  youth,  and  simplicity,  and 
truth.  They  seem  like  good  angels  about  my  path  ;  and 
in  their  company  I  feel  that  I  may  be  perpetually  young. 
These  days  are  golden  days  to  them,  as  they  are  once  in 
life  to  every  one.  They  drop  richness  on  the  youthful 
heart  from  sun  to  sun.  They  are  filled  full  with  joys  that 
linger,  like  the  recollection  of  old  flavors  on  the  palate, 
to  the  last  hour  of  life  upon  the  enchanted  memory.  I 
would  keep  myself  always  young.  Not  all  the  petty  cares 
and  anxieties  of  this  present  life  should  have  power  to 
make  a  single  wrinkle  on  my  face,  or  draw  a  single  sigh 
from  my  heart." 

"  Wednesday.  I  have  taken  occasion  to  make  several 
calls  around  the  village,  on  the  mothers  of  my  pupils; 
and  they  have  received  me,  without  a  single  exception, 
with  open  cordiality.  I  felt  rejoiced  to  find  so  much  good 
feeling  around  me.  I  can  go  on  with  a  great  deal  better 
spirit  about  my  daily  duties,  and  know  that  I  am  not 
laboring  alone.  It  is  so  pleasant  to  be  assured  of  the 
sympathy  and  cooperation  of  others. 

"  Mrs.  Davy,  the  wife  of  the  village  blacksmith,  seems 
one  of  the  best  women  in  the  world.  And  I  am  much 
pleased,  too,  with  the  appearance  of  her  daughter  Mary. 
She  tells  me  she  is  a  member  of  the  village  choir,  which 
makes  me  think  a  little  more  tenderly  of  her,  I  must  con 
fess  ;  for  music  is  such  a  refinement  for  the  feelings,  and 


LEAVES    FROM   A   JOURNAL.  131 

makes  one  more  bond  of  friendship  and  love.  I  have 
invited  Mary  to  come  into  my  school  whenever  she  would, 
and  help  us  at  our  singing  exercise  in  the  afternoon. 
How  much  I  could  enjoy  any  thing  like  that ! " 

"  Thursday.  Such  beautiful  weather  as  we  are  having 
is  beyond  the  expectations  of  all.  People  say  it  is  an 
uncommonly  forward  season ;  and,  little  as  I  am  able  to 
judge  of  the  fact  from  my  acquaintance  with  rural  affairs, 
I  should  think  that  such  was  the  case. 

"  It  delights  me  to  go  out  to  my  little  school  in  the 
morning,  feeling  the  freshness  of  this  balmy  air.  The 
dandelions  already  are  thick  in  the  turf  all  along  the  vil 
lage  street,  and  the  buttercups  are  beginning  to  blossom, 
too.  It  makes  the  grass  look  as  if  it  concealed  beds  of 
gold,  of  which  only  these  small  and  bright  flecks  show 
themselves  through  the  dark  green  covering.  As  I  walk 
along  to  school,  I  am  as  happy  as  the  children  whom  I 
see  trudging  on  at  a  distance  before  me.  I  feel  as  if  I 
could  start  off  and  chase  the  dancing  butterflies,  too,  and 
clap  down  my  bonnet  over  them  with  quite  as  boisterous 
a  joy  as  they. 

"  These  maple  trees  are  dense  with  their  spreading  and 
thickening  shadows.  I  could  not  have  believed,  without 
seeing  it  for  myself,  what  a  magical  change  this  shade  has 
wrought  for  the  entire  street ;  the  tender  leaves,  still  so 
delicate  in  their  deepening  hues,  make  such  a  pleasant 
covering  for  the  boughs,  I  almost  wish  I  were  myself  a 
bird,  to  build  my  home  somewhere  in  their  airy  cr  ambers, 


132  AMY   LEE. 

where  I  could  catch  the  earliest  glimpse  of  the  red  dawn, 
or  sit  and  watch  in  calmness  the  stars  that  burn  in  such 
mysterious  clusters  all  over  the  heavens  at  night. 

"  It  is  really  a  picture  of  repose,  and  none  the  less 
attractive  on  that  account,  the  men  going  in  the  early 
morning  to  their  labor  in  the  far-off  fields,  driving  away 
cart  loads  of  ploughs,  and  harrows,  and  chains.  There  is 
a  look  of  independence  about  them,  too,  that  seems  to  be 
wanting  in  those  whom  I  have  been  accustomed  to  see  in 
the  town  streets.  I  must  say  I  like  the  sign,  for  it  con 
fesses  plainly  enough  to  freer  hearts  and  a  smaller  burden 
of  mere  worldly  vanity. 

*'  To-day  I  have  written  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Dozy,  giving 
her  a  brief  account  of  my  journey  here,  of  what  so  fortu 
nately  befell  me  on  the  way,  and  how  I  am  getting  on.  I 
think  the  good  woman  will  rejoice  for  me  wi-th  her  whole 
heart ;  for  I  took  my  leave  of  her  in  such  a  confused  state 
of  feeling,  that  she  could  not  discover  the  resignation  and 
courage  I  tried  all  the  while  to  exhibit  —  but,  alas !  ex 
hibited  so  poorly  at  the  best.  I  hope  Mrs.  Dozy,  when 
she.  receives  this  letter,  will  be  somewhat  comforted.  I 
have  told  her  where  I  find  the  strength  that  sustains  me 
through  all  that  comes,  and  how  freely  it  flows  into  my 
heart  for  the  earnest  asking.  There  need  be  nothing  in 
this  world  to  fear;  if  we  put  the  foolish  croakings  and 
warnings  of  those  who  have  no  faith  behind  us  altogether, 
we  may  be  strong,  and  courageous,  and  filled  with  com 
fort  to  the  end  of  our  days." 


CHAPTER    XII. 
SATURDAY  AFTERNOON. 

THREE  weeks  had  gone  already.  It  was  now  the  very 
last  of  May.  And  so  rapidly  had  the  season  advanced, 
that  the  earth  was  teeming  with  the  beauties  that  had 
burst  from  its  soil,  and  Nature  seemed  to  go  reeling  under 
her  load  of  blossoms  and  flowers. 

Amy  had  become  acquainted  personally  with  the  par 
ents  of  every  one  of  her  pupils,  visiting  them  as  soon  after 
opening  her  school  as  she  could  find  time.  The  impres 
sions  she  had  at  first  entertained  respecting  them  were 
daily  confirmed  and  extended.  They  promised  her  all  the 
assistance  she  could  desire  in  her  work.  They  offered  her 
such  pleasant  counsel  as  would  make  her  feel  most  easy 
among  them.  They  spoke  words  of  encouragement,  and 
affection,  and  deep  sympathy. 

The  school  itself  thrived  steadily.  There  were  now 
twenty-two  pupils,  and  she  did  not  desire  to  have  any 
more  if  she  could.  The  children  all  learned  at  an  early 
day  to  love  her,  feeling  a  trust  in  her  affection  such  as 
childhood  every  where  desires  to  repose  in  its  elders  and 
superiors.  She  paced  the  floor  of  her  miniature  domain 
12  (133) 


134  AMY   LEE. 

with  a  light  step  ;  for  her  heart  was  in  her  work,  and  she 
was  happy.  It  is  to  be  questioned  if  even  the  young 
scholars  themselves  were  at  any  time  of  gayer  spirits 
than  she. 

As  she  stood  day  after  day  and  talked  so  affectionately 
t :  them  all,  or  sat  in  that  old-fashioned  chair  with  a  flag 
seat  and  heard  them  severally  read,  or  spell,  or  recite  the 
wonderful  discoveries  they  had  made  among  the  two  dozen 
and  more  letters  of  the  alphabet,  she  looked  indeed  a 
picture  of  perfect  happiness  and  contentment.  Amy  Lee 
possessed  a  talent  for  that  which  would  much  outshine 
her  present  humble  employment,  and  she  very  well  knew 
it.  But  she  had  thoroughly  searched  her  heart ;  she  had 
studied  with  close  attentiveness  all  the  habits  of  her 
mind ;  she  had  considered  the  insidiousness  with  which 
a  particular  sorrow  is  often  apt  to  make  its  way  into  the 
inner  recesses  of  the  nature ;  and  this  was  the  simple,  but 
highly  useful  occupation  she  had  chosen,  by  whose  quiet 
pursuit  she  knew  she  could  best  promote  her  happiness. 
To-day  she  was  glad  to  teach  an  infant  school ;  to-morrow 
she  would  be  as  glad  to  perform  any  other  duty  that 
offered,  even  were  it  less  in  the  estimation  of  the  vain 
world  than  this.  Amy  tried  not  to  live  to  opinions,  but 
to  herself.  In  this  way  alone  could  she  get  at  the  life 
that  has  the  real  truth  in  its  heart.  Thus  she  dwelt  at 
the  very  centre  of  her  being,  and  not  at  the  circumference  ; 
and  the  central  heart  would  be  more  sure  now  to  radiate 
to  the  surface,  and  thence  to  the  lives  of  those  around  her 
in  all  possible  directions. 


SATURDAY   AFTERNOON.  135 

These  Saturday  afternoons,  in  her  own  school  days, 
•were  the  blank  half  pages  in  the  little  book  of  the  week. 
Then  she  used  to  look  forward  to  them,  she  remembered, 
with  a  dancing  heart.  That  was  the  time  when  she 
played  with  the  other  children  in  silent  garrets,  if  it  hap 
pened  to  rain,  or  in  delightful  gardens  and  back  yards,  if 
it  was  pleasant.  The  recollections  of  the  house-playing 
scenes,  when  pies  were  made  from  mud  and  baked  on 
pieces  of  shivered  plates  and  saucers,  and  when  they  all 
used  to  sit  down  round  a  large  rock  and  drink  as  many 
cups  of  tea  as  they  supposed  themselves  capable  of  hold 
ing  ;  of  the  rides  she  used  to  take  with  her  playmates  in 
a  highly  imaginary  way,  crossing  the  country,  water  not 
excepted,  at  a  rate  that  would  almost  put  the  style  of 
telegraph  travel  out  of  conceit  with  itself;  and  of  the 
dear  old  garrets  under  whose  eaves  she  had  repeatedly 
crawled,  listening  with  a  fast-beating  heart  to  the  mystery 
of  the  rain,  —  all  such  endeared  recollections  swarmed 
about  her  at  times  like  these,  and  she  almost  felt  as  if 
she  must  call  out  for  the  companions  that  had  since  de 
parted  and  died. 

Amy  was  fond  of  living  over  her  enjoyments  yet  a 
second  time,  and,  a  third.  She  held  that  a  pleasure 
repeated  was  as  good  as  a  new  pleasure.  And  she  also 
held  with  that,  that  of  all  our  pleasures  none  were  capable 
of  yielding  so  rich  a  store  of  delight  as  those  which  in 
themselves  were  the  very  simplest. 

So  she  bethought  herself,  it  being  the  last  Saturday 


136  AMY    LEE. 

afternoon  in  May,  to  take  a  stroll  over  the  village  north 
ward,  and  up  among  the  slopes  of  the  higher  lands,  and  by 
herself  to  live  over  again  the  old  and  happy  times  of  her 
childish  days.  She  got  along  as  far  as  the  school  house, 
however,  and  could  not  go  by ;  it  seemed  really  impera 
tive  that  she  should  just  cast  a  look  in  at  the  window, 
and  see  how  still  the  place  appeared. 

While  she  was  standing  and  indulging  her  fancies  in 
their  idle  waywardness,  the  sound  of  footsteps  fell  on  her 
ear,  and  turning  about,  she  discovered  one  of  her  own 
pupils  coming  round  the  corner  of  the  building.  It  was 
little  Susy  Moore.  The  child  did  not  at  first  see  her, 
but  was  walking  forward  with  her  hands  behind  her,  and 
her  eyes  to  the  ground.  She  seemed  in  a  highly  con 
templative  mood. 

"Why,  Susy  !  "  exclaimed  Amy,  in  surprise. 

The  child  stopped  suddenly  and  looked  up.  There  was 
such  an  expression  of  mixed  surprise  and  delight  in  her 
countenance,  Amy  could  hardly  restrain  herself  from  rush 
ing  forward  and  catching  her  up  in  her  arms. 

*'  Dear  little  one,"  said  she,  "  what  are  you  doing  here 
all  alone?" 

"  Looking  for  Charlie,"  answered  the  girl.  "  Have  you 
seen  Charlie,  Miss  Lee  ?  " 

"  No,  I  haven't.  Has  he  been  here  with  you  this 
afternoon  ? " 

"We  came  over  to  the  school  house  to  play,"  said 
Susy.  "All  the  other  girls  were  coming,  too.  And 


SATURDAY   AFTERNOON.  137 

brother  Charlie  came  with  me  when  I  came.  Haven't  you 
seen  Charlie,  truly,  Miss  Lee%?  " 

"  Indeed  I  haven't,"  answered  Amy  a  second  time. 
"  But  I  will  help  you  hunt  for  him,  though.  Where  do 
you  suppose  he  went  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  He's  run  away  ;  and  mother  said,  if 
he  didn't  stay  with  me,  I  must  come  home." 

"  I'm  afraid  you  will  have  to  go  home,  then.  Poor 
little  Susy  !  Your  brother  shouldn't  leave  you  in  this 
way  —  should  he  ?  We'll  find  him  if  we  can,  at  any 
rate." 

So  *^my  took  her  by  the  hand,  and  hunted  about  in 
every,  direction  for  the  roguish  delinquent.  First  they 
went  to  the  opposite  wall,  and  Amy  looked  over  it  up  and 
down  its  length  as  far  as  she  could  see.  Then  they  ap 
proached  the  street,  and  gazed  one  way  and  the  other. 
Then  Amy  searched  in  all  directions  about  the  school 
house.  But  to  no  purpose.  Nothing  whatever  was  to  be 
discovered  of  the  runaway. 

"  How  strange  this  is  ! "  said  Amy,  as  if  talking  to 
herself;  and  immediately  they  turned  the  back  corner  of 
the  building. 

A  little,  dark,  doubled-up  object  presented  itself  to 
their  sight  just  as  they  got  round  the  other  side,  and  Amy 
half  started  with  surprise. 

As  she  hesitated  a  moment  to  learn  what  it  could  be, 
whom  should  her  eyes  fall  on  but  the  roguish  little  brother 
12* 


138  AMY    LEE. 

of  Susy,  his  head  bent  considerably  downwards,  and  his 
jacket  pulled  completely  over  it ! 

The  instant  Susy  recognized  him,  she  let  go  of  Amy's 
hand,  and  ran  up  to  him,  pulling  his  head  out  of  its 
hiding-place,  and  commencing  playfully  to  upbraid  him 
for  his  faithlessness.  When  he  looked  up  and  saw  who 
was  with  his  sister,  he  hung  his  head  for  shame.  He  did 
not  know  what  to  say,  or  where  to  begin. 

"You  shouldn't  hide  away  from  your  little  sister  — 
should  you  ? "  Amy  asked  him,  scarcely  able  herself  to 
keep  her  soberness  at  seeing  the  ludicrous  situation  in 
which  he  had  placed  himself. 

He  half  smiled,  rubbed  his  shoulder  against  the  side 
of  the  •  house,  worked  his  fingers  busily  together,  and 
looked  down  steadily  at  the  ground. 

"  You  wasn't  a-goin'  to  run  away  from  me  —  was  you, 
Charley  ?  "  said  Susy,  throwing  her  arms  about  him  as  far 
as  they  would  go. 

"  I  only  wanted  to  scare  her,"  he  replied,  looking  a 
trifle  more  up  towards  Amy's  face. 

"  Then  I'm  sure  I  wouldn't  try  to  scare  my  little  sister," 
said  the  latter,  stooping  down  and  joining  their  hands. 
"  Play  with  her,  but  don't  ever  run  away  from  her." 

And  thus  cautioning  and  advising  the  children,  Amy 
amused  herself  with  them  till  the  other  expected  ones  came 
up.  There  they  straggled  along,  mostly  girls,  intent  on  a 
good  Saturday  afternoon's  play  around  the  old  school  house. 
Amy  regarded  them  with  real  delight.  She  knew  how 


SATURDAY   AFTERNOON.  139 

much  enjoyment  was  in  all  this,  and  again  those  indefina 
ble  longings  for  a  returned  childhood  revisited  her  heart. 

Perhaps  she  lingered  and  amused  herself  with  them  for 
half  an  hour.  She  marked  out  new  territories  for  their 
little  households  ;  she  sat  and  piled  up  cobble  stones 
under  the  wall  till  there  were  no  more  left  for  her  to  put 
her  hand  on;  and  she  initiated  them  into  many  novel 
playground  mysteries  they  had  never  before  heard  of. 
And  when  she  finally  withdrew  from  their  midst,  and 
prepared  to  continue  her  afternoon  walk  wherever  her 
eyes  might  entice  and  her  feet  carry  her,  they  all  formed 
in  one  silent  group  as  she  was  leaving,  and  stood  gazing 
affectionately  after  her  till  she  was  out  of  sight. 

"  0,  blessed  memory  of  childhood  ! "  exclaimed  Amy 
aloud,  getting  on  a  little  over  the  grassy  road.  "  How 
sweet  it  is  to  the  human  soul !  How  sweet  it  is  !  " 

Her  course  conducted  her  a  long  distance  to  the  north 
ward  of  the  village,  and  to  the  point  where  the  mountains 
began  to  come  down  and  meet  in  the  road.  She  came  to 
the  old  bridge,  made  so  roughly  of  heavy  logs  and- tim 
bers,  and  stopped  in  the  middle  of  it,  leaning  on  the  rail. 
It  was  a  still  hour,  and  a  still  scene.  The  water  below 
flowed  tranquilly  and  silent.  She  could  scarcely  catch  the 
sound  of  a  gush  or  a  gurgle  from  either  shore.  The  green 
boughs  were  some  of  them  dipping  in  the  limpid  current, 
and  lifting  themselves  slowly  and  with  a  graceful  motion. 
So  still  was  the  hour,  so  quiet  the  scene,  so  tranquil  every 
association  that  feeling  or  memory  flung  about  her,  sho 


140  AMY   LEE. 

felt  that  she  could  remain  there  till  the  evening  shadows 
trooped  down  the  mountains,  and  live  many  and  many  a 
rich  experience  in  the  time  that  would  pass  so  swiftly. 
She  leaned  her  arm  on  the  rude  rail  of  the  bridge,  and 
her  head  on  her  hand. 

"  It  is  like  human  life  —  like  my  own  life,"  her  lips 
involuntarily  murmured,  while  she  looked  down  into  the 
stream.  "  So  swift,  so  smooth,  so  noiseless."  And  with 
tears  in  her  eyes  at  length  she  turned  away. 

Striking  into  a  wild-looking  meadow,  or  pasture  land, 
from  the  road,  she  climbed  among  rocks  and  brambles, 
ascending  greenly  carpeted  slopes  and  toiling  up  ascent 
after  ascent  till  her  breath  grew  quite  short  and  difficult ; 
when  she  finally  sat  down  upon  a  natural  cushion  of  moss 
that  tufted  a  rock  close  at  hand,  and  in  the  shadow  of  a 
young  walnut  tree  gazed  off  over  the  village.  She  found 
she  had  attained  to  quite  a  height,  even  a  greater  one 
than  she  had  expected  that -afternoon  to  reach. 

There  lay  Valley  Village  almost  at  her  feet.  It  was  a 
beautiful  cluster  of  plain  and  unpretending  houses,  whose 
roofs  were  darkened  by  the  shade  of  the  street  maples. 
Only  a  nest  of  little  dwellings  lay  hidden  among  those 
trees,  right  in  the  lap  of  the  quiet  valley.  It  seemed  as 
if  she  could  hold  it  all  in  the  hollow  of  her  hand. 

Her  delighted  eyes  caught  the  shining  thread  of  the  river 
at  a  point  just  below  the  bridge  she  had  so  lately  crossed, 
and  followed  it  onward  in  its  winding  courses,  —  onward 
and  onward  still, — now  half  secreted  by  an  interposing 


SATURDAY  AFTERNOON".  141 

knoll  of  grassy  earth,  now  plunging  itself  into  the  sleepy 
shadows  of  entangling  bush,  and  brake,  and  brier,  till  it 
swept  along  by  the  village  in  its  bright  career,  and  de 
bouched  into  the  basin  far  down,  where  the  great  water 
wheels  of  the  mills  were  daily  fed  with  its  dashing  power. 

Behind  her  still  rose  the  greater  heights  of  the  moun 
tain,  afar  off  at  their  summits  clothed  with  a  dense  forest. 
She  could  behold  many  a  pile  of  craggy  rocks  beetling  up 
in  the  most  grand  and  surprising  configurations,  and 
longed  already  to  climb  them  to  their  very  peaks,  and 
there  to  look  abroad  over  the  face  of  the  extended  land 
scape,  and  feel  that  she  never,  never  was  so  free. 

All  around  her  was  grass  and  leaves,  fresh  and  green. 
Above  spread  the  boundless  blue  sky,  with  hardly  a  feather 
of  a  cloud  sailing  across  its  dreamy  sea.  Below  stretched 
out  a  broad  landscape  of  astonishing  variety,  and  fresh 
ness,  and  suggestive  beauty.  Not  an  object  did  her  eyes 
alight  upon  that  did  not  answer  as  a  symbol  for  some  cor 
responding  emotion  in  her  soul.  She  sat  there  entranced. 
Words  would  poorly  have  answered  the  end  of  conveying 
the  varying  feelings  that  drifted  across  her  heart.  There 
was  but  one  thought  within  her,  but  one  affection,  but  one 
desire  ;  and  that  was  of  and  for  God. 

And  for  one  whole  most  enriching  hour  did  she  there 
silently  gaze,  and  dream,  and  pray,  and  aspire. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 
DOLLY  TATTERAGS. 

ONE  of  her  pupils  remained  with  her  a  while,  after 
school  was  out  one  afternoon  in  early  June,  and  seemed 
waiting  to  communicate  something.  The  child  was  the 
daughter  of  a  farmer  at  the  northern  part  of  the  village, 
and  Amy  called  her  Ann  Rackett. 

"  Are  you  waiting  for  me,  Ann  ?  "  asked  Amy,  turning 
round  in  surprise  to  find  she  had  staid  so  long  after  all 
the  others  had  gone. 

The  little  one  hesitated,  and  began  to  pull  at  her  apron 
by  way  of  working  off  some  of  her  embarrassment.  . 

Amy  stepped  nearer,  and  took  hold  of  her  hand  to 
encourage  her. 

"What  does  Ann  want  with  me  to-night?"  she  asked 
again,  in  a  kind  voice.  "  Does  she  want  to  say  any  thing 
to  me  ? " 

"  If  you  please,  ma'am  —  if  you  please " 

And  there  the  young  thing  stopped. 

"  Well,  then,"  encouraged  Amy,  "  what  if  I  do  please  ? 
Don't  be  at  all  afraid  to  tell  me  what  you  wish  to,  Ann. 
Come,  let  us  sit  down  together  on  this  bench  here,  and 

(142) 


DOLLY    TATTEBAGS.  143 

then  you  shall  tell  me  all  about  it.  Now,  what  was  it 
you  wanted  me  to  do,  if  I  pleased  ?  "  . 

With  an  effort  the  child  got  it  finally  all  out. 

"  Dolly  wants  to  come  to  school,"  said  she.  "  I  told 
her  so  much  about  you,  she  wants  to  come,  too." 

"  But  who  is  Dolly  ?  That  is  somebody  I  have  not  yet 
seen  ; ,  Dolly  who  ?  " 

"  Dolly  Tatterags,"  she  answered,  looking  up  into  her 

.* 

teacher's  face  as  with  surprise  that  she  did  not  understand 
what  "  Dolly  "  meant. 

"  Well,  but  who  is  Dolly  Tatterags  ?  Can't  you  tell 
me  ?  Where  does  she  live  ?  " 

"  'Way  up  over  the  hill,"  answered  the  child,  pointing 
in  that  direction  with  an  outstretched  arm. 

"  Has  she  got  a  mother,  then,  and  a  father  ? "  asked 
Amy.  ;^  - 

"  O,  yes*;  and  a  good  many  brothers  and  sisters,  too." 

"Well,  but  why  doesn't  she  come  to  school,  then? 
Are  you  sure  she  wants  to  ? " 

"  O,  I  know  she  does,"  said  the  child,  gathering  confi 
dence.  "  She  told  me  so  herself.  I  know  she  wants  to 
come." 

"  Do  you  live  near  where  she  floes  ?  " 

"  It's  a  good  ways  further  over  to  her  house ;  but  she 
comes  to  our  house  sometimes,  and  then  she  and  I  play 
together."  &  *  \  i 

"  Well,  will  you  tell  her,  *he  next  time  you  see  her, 
that  she  is  welcome  to  come  to  school,  and  that  I  shall  be 


144  AMY   LEE. 

glad  to  have  her  come  ?  Will  you  tell  her  that,  and  that 
I  say  so?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am  ;  but  —  but " 

And  then  a  silence. 

u  But  what,  child  ?  Don't  you  want  to  tell  her  what 
I  say?" 

"  0,  yes  ;  but  —  but  her  father's  so  poor." 

It  all  flashed  over  Amy,  and  a  sweet  fountain  sent  its 
living  waters  gushing  out  from  her  heart. 

"  Dear  child  !  "  she  softly  and  tenderly  exclaimed.  "  Is 
that  the  reason  why  she  doesn't  come  ?  Is  that  the  only 
reason  —  because  her  father  is  poor  ?  " 

"  She  says  she  wants  to  come  dreadfully,  and  learn 
something,  like  the  other  girls  ;  but  her  mother  told  her 
they  couldn't  afford  to  send  her,  and  so  she  says  she  tries 
to  stay  at  home.  But  she  wants  to  come,  and  she  told  me 
so  ;  and  I  didn't  know  what  to  do." 

"  Did  she  ask  you  to  say  any  thing  to  me  about  it  ?  " 
inquired  Amy. 

"  O,  no  ;  she  only  said  that  she  would  like  to  come  so 
much.  I'm  sorry  her  father  is  so  poor ;  I  love  Dolly 
Tatterags  very  much." 

Amy  instinctively  drew  the  child  nearer  to  her  heart. 

**  Then  she  didn't  tell  you  to  say  any  thing  to  me  about 
coming  to  school  ?  " 

"  O,  no,  ma'am  ;  no,  ma'am." 

"  And  you  thought  of  it  all  yourself,  did  you,  dear 
Ann  ? " 


DOLLY    TATTERAGS.  145 

The  little  one  hung  her  head,  not  certain  but  she  had 
done  something  entirely  wrong. 

"  You  are  a  good  girl,  Annie,"  said  Amy ;  "  and  you 
shall  go  and  tell  her  that  she  may  come  to  school  if  her 
father  is  poor.  She  needn't  stay  away  for  that.  Now, 
will  you  bring  her  with  you  by  next  Monday  ?  Will  you 
promise  not  to  come  without  her  ?  " 

Little  Ann  looked  too  delighted  to  speak.  Her  eyes 
were  glowing  with  pleasure. 

"  Tell  her  Miss  Lee  says  she  may  read  and  spell  with 
all  the  other  children,  and  learn  to  sew  and  sing,  too. 
She  needn't  pay  any  thing  for  it,  either.  She  may  come 
just  as  much  as  if  her  father  wasn't  poor.  Now,  do  you 
think  you  can  tell  her  that  ?  Do  you  think  you  shan't 
forget  any  of  it  ?  " 

"  I  guess  I  can,"  quickly  answered  the  delighted  girl. 
"  0,  I  know  Dolly'll  be  so  glad  to  go  to  school.  I  know 
she  will." 

And  without  further  ceremony,  forgetful  where  she 
was  or  with  whom  she  was  talking,  little  Ann  Rackett 
skipped  out  of  the  school  room,  and  skipped  like  a  young 
cricket  off  home. 

It  was  one  of  Amy's  ways  to  produce  as  much  happi 
ness  with  her  limited  facilities  as  possible.  The  instant 
the  child  left  her  again  to  herself,  she  resolved  to  go  over 
and  see  the  Tatterag  family  between  then  and  Monday 
morning  herself.  Ann  might  first  have  the  boundless 
satisfaction  of  communiciting  such  unexpected  inteUigenca 
13 


149  AMY    LEE. 

to  little  Dolly  and  her  mother ;  but  she  likewise  would 
herself  enjoy  the  delight  of  making  them  happy.  This 
was  one  little  instance  of  Amy's  kind  considerateness. 

The  first  thing  to  be  done,  therefore,  on  reaching  home, 
was  to  ask  Mrs.  Gummel  all  about  the  history  and  situa 
tion  of  the  Tatterags.  She  had  her  feelings  suddenly  en 
listed  in  their  behalf.  The  very  name  of  their  child  pleased 
her  in  a  manner  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  explain. 
She  knew  there  was  a  something  about  them  that  drew 
her  sympathies.  And  then  she  told  Mrs.  Gummel,  too, 
about  the  way  in  which  their  names  had  been  first  brought 
to  her  notice. 

"  Well,"  began  her  friend,  eager  to  impart  such  infor 
mation  as  was  needed  most,  "  Ann  Rackett  has  told  you 
truly  enough  that  they  are  poor.  Mr.  Tatterags  himself 
is  a  woodchopper.  He  goes  out  into  the  forests  in  winter, 
and  works  for  the  farmers,  chopping  the  logs  they  carry  to 
market  the  next  winter.  It's  a  hard  way  of  getting  a 
living,  I  do  suppose,"  added  Mrs. ..  Gummel ;  "  but  it 
seems  to  be  what  he's  best  fitted  for.  And  people  all  say 
he's  a  good  hand  at  woodchopping.  I've  had  him  cut  up 
many  a  wood  pile  for  me." 

"  He  can  get  work  enough,  then  ? "  asked  Amy. 

"  Why,"  said  Mrs.  Gummel,  "  I  suppose  so  ;  but  he's 
intolerably  lazy  —  not  dissolute,  that  I  ever  heard  of,  but 
indolent,  without  any  sort  of  calculation,  and  indisposed 
to  do  any  more  work  than  barely  enough  to  help  him 
along.  And  his  wife,  too,  isn't  thought  to  be  any  differ- 


DOLLY    TATTEBAGS.  147 

ent.  She's  what  we  call  a  '  complaining  woman.'  Noth 
ing  ever  goes  rigLt  with  her.  She  is  always  finding  fault 
with  her  husband  and  with  whatever  happens  ;  forever 
brooding  over  the  worst  side  of  things,  and  making  a 
bugbear  for  herself  out  of  nothing  at  all.  I  do  not  say 
this  to  slander  her,  for  that  is  certainly  not  my  wish ;  but 
every  body  knows  just  how  it  is,  and  you  have  asked  to 
know  only  what  is  so  generally  understood." 

"  But  how  many  children  have  they  ?  "  pursued  Amy, 
growing  more  thoughtful. 

"  There  are  more  than  half  a  dozen  of  them,  I  know ; 
but  how  many  more,  is  really  more  than  I  can  tell  you. 
You'll  find  the  number  usual  for  very  poor  people,  I 
think,  however." 

"  I'll  go  over  and  see  them  myself  Saturday  afternoon," 
said  Amy,  "  and  learn  if  I  can  do  any  thing  for  them. 
This  little  Dolly  shall  certainly  come  to  school,  if  she 
will,  money  or  no  money ;  that's  the  last  thing  for  me 
to  think  of." 

The  time  between  then  and  Saturday  went  off  rapidly 
and  quietly.  The  next  opportunity  she  had  she  asked 
Ann  what  Dolly  said  to  the  message  she  carried  her. 

"  She  said  she  didn't  believe  her  mother'd  let  her  come 
now,"  answered  the  child. 

"  Not  let  her  come  !  But  why  not  ?  Doesn't  her 
mother  want  Dolly  to  learn  all  she  can  ? " 

"  But  Dolly's  afraid  you  won't  like  her,  after  she's  got 
here  ;  and  she  told  me  so  herself." 


148  AMY   LEE. 

"  Don't  you  like  her  ?  " 

'*  I  guess  I  do,"  she  answered  smiling/y. 

"  Then  don't  you  think  7  shall  ?  " 

"  I  told  her  you  would,  and  how  you  wanted  to  see  her 
at  school  'long  with  the  other  girls ;  but  she's  afraid  ;  she 
says  she  don't  know ;  and  she  don't  dare  to  ask  her 
mother  any  thing  about  it,  for  she  feels  so  sure  her 
mother'll  make  her  stay  at  home  with  the  rest  of  'em." 

"Well,  never  mind,"  said  Amy;  "I  think  we  will 
manage  to  get  her  here  in  some  way." 

Early  on  Saturday  afternoon,  therefore,  she  left  her 
room  to  walk  over  to  the  residence  of  the  Tatterags.  Mrs. 
Gummel  had  directed  her  with  all  possible  particularity, 
so  that  there  was  little  danger  of  her  missing  her  way. 
The  route  lay  not  far  from  the  walk  Amy  took  before,  as 
described  in  the  last  chapter,  only  that  she  would  be 
obliged  to  climb  the  opposite  hill  from  the  one  she  then 
climbed. 

The  afternoon  was  delicious  and  inspiring.  The  air 
was  not  at  all  too  hot,  but  occasional  draughts  fanned  her 
temples  and  face,  and  kept  her  continually  refreshed.  If 
she  walked  a  little  too  fast  at  any  time,  as  soon  as  she 
felt  fatigued  she  sat  down  upon  a  rock  or  a  stone  until 
she  was  rested  again. 

She  crossed  the  bridge,  but  not  without  stopping  as 
before  to  lean  on  its  rail,  and  gaze  for  a  few  minutes 
thoughtfully  into  the  stream  that  swam  below.  In  that 
place,  and  in  that  position,  the  same  sweet  and  holy 


TOLLY   TATTEEAGS.  149 

feelings  flowed  like  that  clear  current  through  her  heart. 
She  caught  glimpses  of  the  same  beautiful  dreams  dancing 
in  the  water,  and  saw  heaven  in  the  same  blue  and  almost 
cloudless  sky  that  threw  its  deep  concave  far,  far  beneath 
the  bed  of  the  stream. 

As  she  passed  on,  she  found  the  narrow  road  that  Mrs. 
Gummel  had  been  so  careful  to  describe  conducting  her 
up  the  high  lands  on  her  left.  She  turned  in  at  once,  and 
went  on  resolutely.  At  one  time  she  was  pacing  a  level 
of  quite  considerable  breadth  and  extent ;  then  she  came 
to  a  steep  acclivity,  where  mossy  rocks  and  trunks  of  old 
trees  were  confusedly  piled  together,  but  through  which 
the  narrow  cart  path  carried  her  with  due  precision  and 
regularity.  She  toiled  along  with  wonderful  courage,  and 
felt  that  the  task  was  good  for  her.  The  odors  from  the 
pines  that  in  spots  were  sprinkled  around  invigorated  her 
lungs.  She  feasted  on  the  fragrance  of  the  wild  flowers 
that  were  hidden  by  thousands  among  the  trees  and  rocks. 
She  felt  a  sense  of  new  physical  power,  as  the  draughts 
of  air  came  whirling  down  from  the  old  mountain  top,  and 
saluting  her  eyes,  her  cheeks,  her  forehead,  and  her  lips. 
Her  thoughts  danced  in  perfect  harmony,  and  her  pulses 
tripped  to  a  perfect  tune,  as  she  sat  down  from  time  to 
time  during  the  ascent,  and  gazed  in  mute  rapture  over 
the  living  landscape  of  June. 

Walking  and  stopping,  toiling  and  resting,  thinking 
now  of  one  thing  and  now  of  another,  she  finally  reached  a 
broad  steppe,  over  which  the  road  still  conducted  her,  and 
13* 


150  AMY   LEE. 

afterwards  wound  with  a  sudden  turn  around  the  sharp 
shoulder  of  the  mountain.  The  view  from  this  natural 
terrace  was  of  all  others  most  enchanting ;  it  was  more  to 
Amy's  soul  —  it  was  sublime.  She  sought  a  convenient 
resting-place  after  so  much  persevering  travel,  and  sat 
down  a  few  moments  to  enjoy  the  sight  that  so  filled  her 
eyes  and  her  heart. 

"  O  that  there  were  some  dear  one  here,  to  share  all 
this  beauty  with  me  ! "  exclaimed  she  aloud.  "  To  have 
it  only  to  myself,  to  be  alone  in  a  place  like  this,  —  who 
would  wish  it  ?  I  would  tell  something  of  my  rapture  to 
the  heart  of  another,  that  is  enchanted  just  like  mine." 

While  she  still  sat  there,  viewing  the  magnificent  scene 
around  her,  she  was  startled  by  hearing  what  she  thought 
the  cry  of  a  child.  It  sounded  very  faint,  and  not  very 
near.  She  erected  her  form  and  listened  attentively. 

Again  she  heard  it ;  and  again.  And  now  she  was  cer 
tain  from  what  direction  it  came.  Still  intent  to  catch 
every  variety  of  the  cry,  and  perceiving  that  it  continually 
came  nearer  and  nearer,  she  turned  to  look  towards  the 
spot  where  the  path  turned  the  sharp  angle  of  the  moun 
tain,  and  in  a  very  short  time  discovered  the  cause  of  her 
alarm. 

There  was  a  little  girl  coming  round  the  corner  at  a 
slow  pace,  with  one  hand  to  her  eyes,  crying  bitterly. 

Amy  continued  gazing  at  her;  for  she  was  not  only 
interested  to  know  what  could  be  the  matter,  but  she  was 
equally  certain  that  this  little  thing  was  one  of  the  Tat- 


DOLLY   TATTERAGS.  151 

terag  family.  And  she  kept  her  seat  quietly,  waiting  for 
the  young  stranger's  nearer  approach. 

Along  she  came,  but  now  her  wail  seemed  to  lose  some 
what  of  its  strength  and  volume.  As  she  proceeded,  she 
dropped  her  hand  from  her  eyes,  and  began  to  look  down 
over  the  lovely  valley.  It  seemed  as  if  she  well  knew  sh<» 
had  got  to  the  place  where  the  most  beauty  was  to  be 
seen,  and  there  ceased  from  her  grief  to  enjoy  what  was 
always  ready  for  her  eyes. 

Amy  could  not  but  be  struck  with  the  attitude  and  fea 
tures  of  the  child.  At  once  she  made  her  mind  up  it  was 
Dolly  Tatterags. 

There  she  stood,  keeping  the  posture  her  little  figure 
had  just  assumed.  She  looked  as  if  the  view  of  such  a 
wonderful  glory  had  dried  her  tears,  stopped  the  sobbings 
of  her  sorrow,  and  called  upon  her  to  admire  and  wonder 
in  silence. 

Her  head  was  bare ;  and  brown  locks,  curled  and  tan 
gled  all  together,  showered  over  her  naked  shoulders.  She 
wore  an  exceedingly  short  frock  of  faded  calico,  not  over- 
clean  pantalets,  and  went  barefooted.  The  sleeves,  too, 
of  her  frock  were  short,  revealing  fat  and  pretty  arms, 
though  considerably  browned  by  the  spring  winds  and  the 
summer  suns. 

For  a  minute  or  two  she  gazed  in  earnest  thoughtful- 
ness  over  the  valley  below.  Then  slowly  she  looked  away, 
and  turned  to  regard  the  familiar  objects  around  her. 

The  very  first  one  her  eyes  fell  on  was  Amy.   The  latter 


152  AMY   LEE. 

was  looking  at  her  as  well,  and  saw  that  this  sudden  dis 
covery  caused  her  a  great  deal  of  surprise,  and  perhaps 
fear.  So  she  called  out  to  her  at  once,  still  keeping  the 
seat  she  had  chosen,  — 

"  What  is  the  matter,  my  little  girl  ?  What  are  you 
crying  so  about  ?  " 

The  other  immediately  dropped  her  eyes  to  the  ground, 
and  commenced  working  her  feet  and  toes  busily.  Amy 
saw  that  she  was  somewhat  in  fear  of  her,  as  well  as 
embarrassed;  and  she  got  up  and  went  to  her. 

"Won't  you  tell  me  what  your  name  is?"  she  asked, 
taking  her  by  the  hand. 

"It's  Dolly,"  was  the  answer,  though  the  child  still 
kept  her  eyes  upon  the  ground. 

"Dolly,  is  it?  Well,  I  thought  it  was,"  said  Amy. 
"  And  Dolly  is  a  very  nice  name,  too,  for  a  little  girl ; 
don't  you  think  it  is  ?  " 

Now  the  child  took  courage  to  look  up  timidly,  though 
not  yet  into  Amy's  face,  and  smile  as  faintly  as  her  small 
courage  would  suffer  her. 

"  What  is  the  rest  of  your  name  ?  Can't  you  tell  me  ?  " 
Amy  pursued,  putting  one  hand  under  her  brown  chin. 
"  Dolly  what  ?  " 

"  Dolly  Tatterags."     It  came  out  round  and  full. 

"  Well,  I  thought  it  might  be  you,  after  all.  I  have 
heard  of  you  before,  I  guess  ;  and  you  have  heard  of  me, 
too.  Don't  you  know  little  Annie  Rackett  ?  " 

In  reply  to  this,  the  eyes  of  Dolly  met  those  of  her 


DOLLY    TATTEKAGS.  153 

interrogator  with  a  most  expressive  sparkle  and  glow. 
The  child's  eyes  were  a  beautiful  dark  blue ;  and  Amy 
saw  how  radiant  they  were  at  the  first  glance. 

*'  Aren't  you  the  little  girl  who  wanted  to  come  to  my 
school  ?  "  asked  Amy,  now  holdimg  her  hand  in  both  her 
own,  while  she  stooped  down  that  she  might  the  better 
watch  the  working  of  her  features. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  she  answered  timidly. 

"  And  you're  coming,  aren't  you  ?  I  told  Annie  to 
tell  you  to  be  sure  and  come  Monday,  if  you  didn't  before. 
Bid  she  tell  you  what  I  said  about  it  ?  " 

Dolly  assured  her  faintly  that  she  did. 

"  Well,  then,  wasn't  you  coming  ? " 

The  tears  again  stole  into  the  child's  eyes,  and  Amy 
thought  she  had  never  seen  such  a  picture  of  returning 
sorrow. 

"Why,  what  is  the  matter?  What  is  the  matter? 
And  what  was  it  you  was  crying  about  just  now,  when 
you  came  round  the  corner  ?  " 

The  little  stranger's  bosom  now  began  to  heave,  her  lip 
to  quiver  again,  and  in  spite  of  herself  she  soon  sobbed 
aloud.  The  tears  ran  down  her  cheeks,  and  dropped  in 
the  grass  at  her  feet. 

"  Why,  won't  you  tell  me  what  it  is  that  troubles  you 
so  much  ? "  Amy  insisted,  caressing  her  affectionately. 
"You  mustn't  cry  so,  for  it  won't  do  you  any  good. 
Come,  tell  me  all  about  your  trouble,  and  let  me  see  if  I 
can't  do  something  now  to  make  you  feel  better.  Come  ; 


154  AMY   LEE. 

is  it  ?     Why  do  you  cry  so  ?     Won't  you  tell  me, 


now  ?  " 

A  moment  the  child  hesitated.  Then  she  told  the 
whole  in  a  single  sob  of  a  breath. 

"Mother  says  I  shan't  go  to  school  with  the  other 
girls." 

And  she  began  to  cry  as  hard  as  she  could  cry. 

Amy  drew  her  to  her  arms,  and  continued  for  a  long 
time  trying  by  every  method  to  soothe  and  pacify  her. 
She  told  her  that  she  would  go  home  with  her,  and  see 
her  mother,  and  ask  her  to  let  her  go.  She  promised  to 
do  all  she  could  to  induce  her  parents  to  accede  to  her 
proposal,  and  had  no  doubt  they  would  listen  to  what  she 
would  have  to  say  about  it. 

And  so  after  a  time  she  stopped  crying,  while  Amy 
wiped  away  the  tears  with  her  own  handkerchief.  But 
her  little  bosom  still  heaved  with  the  quick-drawn  sobs, 
and  the  cloud  still  rested  on  her  face,  shading  it  with  a 
look  of  sorrow. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 
THE  TATTERAG  FAMILY. 

WHEN  Dolly  had  become  entirely  calm,  Amy  rose  and 
walked  with  her  guidance  in  the  direction  of  the  home 
of  her  parents. 

After  coming  to  this  angle,  or  shoulder,  of  the  moun 
tain's  side,  she  could  see  that  the  road  conducted  in  a  still 
more  devious  course,  leading  them  rather  down  than  up 
the  slope,  and  into  a  small  copse  of  live  oaks,  walnuts,  and 
chestnuts.  As  soon  as  they  had  passed  through  that,  she 
discovered  that  a  broad  extent  of  open  field  spread  out 
before  her,  swelling  gently  with 'risings  of  verdure-covered 
land,  on  which  there  were  few  or  no  trees,  and  the  whole 
picture  of  which  in  her  eye  was  a  smoothly-rounded  and 
evenly-sloping  bit  of  landscape.  Its  appearance  was  won 
derfully  soft  and  inviting. 

Round  the  inner  edge  of  this  tract  the  road  skirted, 
which  they  persistently  pursued,  talking  pleasantly  all  the 
way.  At  length,  as  they  came  to  a  particular  spot  where 
more  stones  than  usual  seemed  to  be  scattered  about  the 
ground,  Dolly  suddenly  interrupted  her  companion's  talk, 
by  exclaiming,  — 

(155) 


156  JLMY   LEE. 

"  There  !     We  must  turn  in  here." 

Scattered  trees  grew  on  that  side  the  path,  and  they  at 
once  turned  into  the  track  that  made  its  dark,  broad  line 
through  them.  Their  way  was  still  downwards,  till  they 
came  out  from  the  midst  of  the  trees  all  at  once  on  a  little 
clearing  that  bore  marks  of  human  occupancy.  Amy 
looked  with  all  her  eyes  ;  and  straight  before  her  stood 
a  little,  story-and-a-half  brown  house,  neither  shingled  on 
the  roof  nor  clapboarded  at  its  sides,  with  a  stone  chimney 
rising  from  the  middle  of  it,  and  the  low  door,  which  was 
exactly  the  dividing  line  of  the  dwelling's  front,  standing 
wide  open. 

There  was  an  apology  for  a  fence  around  the  front  yard, 
that  had  been  made  by  separate  contributions  of  rail, 
stones,  brushwood,  and  old  boards,  on  the  inner  side  of 
which,  and  to  the  right  and  left  hand  of  the  house,  lay 
what  might  charitably  be  admitted  a  garden.  There  were 
a  few  hills  of  scraggy  beans  in  this  enclosure,  trying  the 
best  they  could  to  clamber  without  assistance  up  the 
jagged,  ragged,  unseemly,  and  irregular  little  platoon 
of  freshly-cut  birch  bean  poles ;  also,  some  hills  of 
squashes,  that  thrust  their  big  golden  blossoms  through 
the  insufficient  fence,  offering  half  their  eventual  products 
to  any  stragglers  who  might  chance  to  be  going  that  way 
when  their  full  ripeness  had  overtaken  them.  And  Amy 
could  see  hills  of  corn,  and  of  potatoes,  and  a  little 
patch  here  and  there  of  some  other  esculent,  known  there 
abouts  as  so  many  different  specimens  of  "  garden  sarse." 


THE   TATTEBAa   FAMILY.  157 

It  was  all  very  well  indeed,  but  it  lacked  the  essential 
look  of  tidiness.  A  pig  was  running  around  at  his  pleas 
ure  outside  the  fence ;  and  the  one-sided  gate  was  fastened 
as  far  as  it  could  be  with  a  curled-up  leather  strap,  hitch 
ing  over  a  rusty  nail  in  the  post. 

Dolly  let  go  Amy's  hand,  and  ran  forward  to  open  the 
gate.  As  they  passed  up  to  the  door,  their  feet  fell  on 
hard-worn  ground,  smooth  as  the  paths  in  an  old  rope- 
walk.  Chickens  were  running  around  the  yard,  and  in 
and  out  the  door.  Dolly  kept  considerably  ahead,  and 
began  to  run  about  and  cry,  "  Shoo !  shoo ! "  to  them, 
waving  her  arms  and  hands. 

They  went  through  the  door,  and  Amy  stood  next  in  a 
little  square  entry,  the  boards  beneath  her  feet  yielding  to 
every  pressure  occasioned  by  her  moving.  The  little  girl 
went  into  a  room  at  the  right,  and  Amy  could  hear  her 
say  in  a  rather  low  voice,  — 

"  Mother  !  mother  !  there's  somebody  here ;  there's 
somebody  to  the  door,  mother ! " 

"  Good  land !  who's  to  the  door,  child  ?  What  does  he 
want  ?  Tell  him  Israel  ain't  to  home." 

Amy,  seeing  that  the  woman  did  not  understand  what 
was  meant,  was  on  the  point  of  stepping  forward  into  the 
room,  when  she  caught  the  words  of  Dolly  again,  and 
hesitated. 

"  It  ain't  a  man,  mother,"  said  she ;  "  it's  a  lady" 

Immediately   she   could  hear   the   movements    of   the 
child's  parent  to  make  preparations  for  a  visitor. 
14 

* 


158  ±MY    LEE. 


"  Why  didn't  you  come  and  tell  me  of  it  before,  child  ? 
Land  !  how  every  thing  looks  here  ! "  And  then  she 
began  to  step  in  the  direction  of  the  door. 

As  she  came  in  full  view  of  Amy,  who  had  till  this 
moment  purposely  secreted  herself  around  the  door  post, 
she  stopped  short  in  her  sudden  surprise,  gazed  vacantly 
in  her  face,  and  began  to  smooth  down  her  hair  with  the 
palm  of  each  hand. 

"  Good  afternoon,"  said  Amy,  smiling  pleasantly. 

"  Afternoon,"  answered  the  woman  in  a  half  whisper, 
still  staring  at  Amy,  and  laboring  now  to  smooth  out  the 
folds  of  her  frock. 

Amy  thought  she  would  wait  and  let  her  invite  her  in ; 
but  as  she  showed  no  symptoms  of  doing  so,  there  was 
nothing  left  but  to  begin  an  explanation  of  her  errand. 

'  "You  may  perhaps  think  it  is  strange  that  I  have  come 
in  on  you  in  this  way  ;  but  I  found  your  little  girl  over 
on  the  mountain,  and  became  so  much  interested  in  her 
that  I  wanted  to  come  and  see  her  mother.  She  was  cry 
ing  so  bitterly,  I  took  pity  on  her." 

"What  was  you  crying  about,  Doll?"  asked  her 
mother,  turning  to  where  she  was  then  standing  right 
behind  her. 

The  child  hung  her  head. 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  said  Amy,  pleasantly.  "  In  fact,  I 
will  begin  and  tell  the  whole  story." 

And  as  Amy  at  this  announcement  made  a  feigned 
movement  as  if  she  would  like  to  go  in  and  sit  down,  the 


THE   TA.TTERAO   FAMILY.  159 

woman  stepped  back  from  the  door  which  she  had  been 
blockading,  and  remarked  with  all  the  civility  that  she 
seemed  to  understand,  — 

"  Perhaps  you'll  come  in  and  take  a  chair.'* 

"Thank  you,"  offered  Amy  in  reply.  "I  think  I 
should  like  to  ;  for  I  am  very  tired,  climbing  this  moun 
tain." 

As  soon,  therefore,  as  she  had  occupied  the  chair  that 
Dolly's  mother  dusted  out  so  hastily  for  her,  Amy  cast  her 
eyes  around  the  apartment  to  get  a  more  thorough  impres 
sion  of  their  condition,  and  continued,  — 

"  Your  little  girl  was  crying  so  hard,"  said  she,  "  I  went 
to  her  to  learn  what  was  the  matter.  She  wouldn't  tell 
me  at  first ;  but  afterwards  she  said  it  was  because  her 
mother  wouldn't  let  her  go  to  school  with  the  other 
children." 

"  That's  pretty,  now  —  ain't  it,  Dolly  ?  "  said  the 
mother,  giving  little  Dolly  a  very  sharp  and  cutting  look, 
that  made  her  hang  her  head. 

"  O,  don't  blame  her  at  all,  I  beg  of  you,  ma'am," 
pleaded  Amy  in  her  behalf.  "  I'm  sure  she  wouldn't  have 
told  me  any  thing  about  it  except  for  my  persisting  to 
know.  She  didn't  want  to  tell  me  at  all ;  but  I  kept  beg 
ging  to  find  out.  So  that  J  am  in  fault  about  it,  if  any 
one  is.  I  certainly  hope  I've  done  no  harm,  for  I  didn't 
intend  any  such  thing." 

"  0,  no ;  nothing  of  that,"  the  woman  assured  her, 
falling  in  with  the  agreeable  tone  and  temper  that  Amy 


160  AMY   LEE. 

displayed.  "  But  she  needn't  tell  all  she  knows,  if  'Jw 
true." 

"  No,  that  she  needn't ;  hut  to  confess  the  whole  to 
you,  ma'am,  I  had  heard  of  little  Dolly  here  through  one 
of  my  scholars." 

"  Then  you're  the  schoolmistress,"  interrupted  the  wo 
man  in  great  surprise.  "Well,  I  thought  you  must  be, 
the  minute  I  set  eyes  on  you  in  the  door.  Why,  who'd 
ha*  thought  of  this  ?  "  And  she  looked  confusedly  around 
the  cluttered  apartment,  as  if  she  would  give  almost  any 
thing  if  her  visitor  would  step  out  a  few  minutes,  and  let 
her  put  the  room  more  "  to  rights."  Amy  instantly  de 
tected  her  sudden  embarrassment,  and  availed  herself  of 
the  opportunity  to  turn  her  attention  another  way. 

"  I  only  walked  overj"  she  continued,  "  to  beg  of  you, 
as  a  particular  favor,  —  a  favor  to  myself,  —  to  let  little 
Dolly  come  to  school  to  me.  I've  heard  of  her,  and  I 
want  to  do  as  much  for  her  as  I  can  for  any  of  the  rest  of 
my  pupils.  Besides,  she  really  seems  to  me  to  deserve  all 
the  instruction  she  needs.  I  think'she  is  a  very  promising 
child,"  she  added  in  a  lower  voice. 

The  mother  was  instantly  mollified. 

"  But  we  couldn't  think  of  paying  a  quarter's  schooling 
for  a  single  child  we've  got,"  said  she.  "  I  don't  know 
as  you  know  it,  but  we're  nothing  but  poor  folks  up  here, 
and  there  don't  seem  to  be  much  use  in  tryin'.  So  we 
give  it  up  entirely,  and  are  as  contented  as  we  know  how 
to  be,  to  say  nothin'  about  it." 


THE   TATTEEAG   FAMILY.  161 

"  Well,  but  I  have  come  to  ask  if  you  will  not  allow 
me  to  give  her  the  schooling.  I  do  not  wish  you  to  pay 
me  an)'  thing.  I  do  not  need  it." 

"  O,"  answered  the  mother,  "  I'm  glad  to  see  one  person 
that  ain't  as  poor  as  we  are.  But  I  don't  know ;  it's  hard 
gettin'  along  in  this  way." 

"  As  for  that  matter,"  Amy  went  on,  "  I  am  not  better 
off  than  you  are.  I  suppose  you  have  to  work  to  secure  a 
living,  and  so  do  I.  So  what  is  the  great  difference 
between  us,  after  all  ?  " 

"Yes,  but  —  but  your  work  pays  you  somethin'.  Now, 
we're  glad  enough,  if,  with  all  our  children,  we  can  only 
get  along.  "We're  thankful,  I  say,  even  for  that  much." 

"  Well,"  answered  Amy  musingly,  and  doubting  either 
the  propriety  or  profit  of  pursuing  that  point  any  further 
at  this  time,  "  I  don't  know.  But  why  won't  you  just 
allow  Dolly  to  come  into  school  with  all  the  rest  of  the 
children  ?  She  may  learn  to  read,  and  to  sew,  and  to  sing, 
and  to  do  whatever  the  others  learn  to  do  ;  and  you  shall 
be  welcome  to  her  schooling,  I'm  sure." 

"  Indeed,  you're  very  kind,  ma'am  —  very  kind.  But 
I  don't  know  what  her  father'd  say  to  it.  Perhaps  he'd 
agree  to  it,  but  I  can't  say." 

"  I  rather  think  he  would  have  no  objections,"  said 
Amy ;  "  at  least,  I  hope  not." 

"  The  child's  got  no  clothes,"  added  her  mother,  much 
softened  by  Amy's  generous  and  kirfdly  manner. 

"  0,  yes,  I  have,  mother,"  interrupted  Dolly  herself. 
14* 


162  AMY    LEE. 

"  Can't  I  wear  my  pink  frock,  you  know  ?  And  I've  got 
a  nice  sun  bonnet,  too." 

Her  mother  faintly  smiled,  as  if  she  was  not  much  used 
to  it. 

"  But  you  haven't  got  any  shoes,"  said  she,  looking  at 
the  little  toes  that  were  at  work  on  the  bare  floor. 

"  I  will  give  her  a  new  pair,"  offered  Amy. 

"  O,  you're  very  kind,  ma'am,  I'm  sure." 

"  And  I  will  see  that  she  wants  for  nothing  that  will 
make  her  look  tidy  and  comfortable.  Now  will  you  say 
she  may  come  ? " 

"  Aha  ! "  the  mother  half  laughed  out ;  "  you're  very 
kind,  I  know.  I  wish  that  half  the  folks  hereabout  were 
as  good  as  you." 

"  Perhaps  they  are  ;  I  don't  know.  At  any  rate,  let  us 
do  right,  you  know,  whether  other  people  do  or  not.  Isn't 
that  the  way  ?  " 

Her  only  answer  was  an  affirmative  nod  of  the  head. 

"  I  think  you  have  got  a  delightful  spot  up  here  to  live 
in,"  Amy  continued,  changing  the  course  of  her  remarks 
a  little.  "  What  a  fine  view  you  get  of  all  the  village 
below ! " 

"  It  ain't  quite  so  pleasant  in  winter,  I  guess  you'd 
think,"  the  mother  replied. 

"  That  may  be  ;  but  will  you  tell  me  where  any  land 
scape  view  is  pleasant  in  winter  ?  I  admit  that  you  can 
find  a  great  many  sublime  scenes,  but  none,  to  my  mind, 
that  are  quite  as  enticing  as  those  of  summer.  The  only 


THE   TATTEBAO   FAMILY.  163 

really  delightful  spot  in  winter,  is,  J  think,  one's  own 
home." 

The  woman  silently  assented. 

"  If  you  let  Dolly  go  to  school  this  summer,  I  think 
you  will  find  me  a  frequent  visitor  up  this  way.  I  have 
been  so  charmed  with  what  I  have  seen  this  afternoon, 
that  I  do  not  really  want  to  go  down  again  into  the  valley. 
But  I  shall  go  with  a  much  lighter  heart,  I  can  tell  you, 
if  you  consent  to  my  proposal.  Don't  you  want  to  go  to 
school,  Dolly  ?  " 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  the  child  promptly  answered.  And 
then  her  mother's  face  again  broke  out  in  one  of  her  sick 
ly  smiles. 

"  I'll  think  about  it,  at  any  rate,"  said  the  latter,  "  as 
you've  taken  so  much  more  interest  in  her  than  any  body 
else  ever  did,  and  seein'  you've  been  so  kind  as  to  come 
clear  up  here  jest  for  that.  I'll  see  what  her  father  has 
to  say." 

Just  then  an  infant's  cry  broke  forth  from  the  pine  cra 
dle  in  the  farther  corner  of  the  room,  and  the  mother 
hastened  to  take  it  up  into  her  arms.  When  she  had 
fairly  got  hold  of  it,  she  began  to  try  to  hush  it  with  such 
family  phrases  and  voices  as  had  sufficed  for  the  training 
of  the  whole  line  of  its  predecessors.  Amy  looked  at  the 
child's  face  to  see  if  it  interested  her  as  much  as  Dolly 
did.  It  was  very  doubtful.  Its  eyes  were  as  yet  but  half 
open ;  its  hair  was  sticking  out  as  if  all  the  rest  of  the 
children  had  taken  turns  in  having  a  good  pull  at  it  j  its 


164  AMY  LEE. 

dress  was  terribly  soiled  and  much  too  short  for  an  infant's 
style  of  drapery  ;  and  its  face  showed  signs  of  a  terrible 
scarcity  of  water  in  that  neighborhood.  For  all  this,  it 
was  its  mother's  own  child,  and  a  mother's  heart  beat  as 
warmly  to  its  little  heart  as  if  it  were  the  child  of  a  prin 
cess  in  royal  arms. 

Amy  now  beckoned  Dolly  to  her,  and  suffered  her  to 
lean  against  her,  while  she  threw  her  own  arm  over  the 
little  girl's  shoulders. 

"  Dolly ! "  sharply  called  out  her  mother,  as  soon  as 
she  saw  her  position.  "  What  do  you  lay  up  on  the  lady 
so  for  ?  " 

"  O,  I  drew  her  up  to  me,"  Amy  explained.  "  I  wanted 
to  talk  with  her  a  little  about  what  she  was  going  to  do 
when  you  let  her  come  to  school.  I  am  very  fond  of  chil 
dren,  you  see." 

Dolly's  mother  said  nothing  more,  affecting  to  be  per 
fectly  pacified ;  and,  in  truth,  there  was  something  very 
influential  for  her  in  the  tones  of  Amy's  voice.  She  had 
at  last  found  one  person  whom  she  acknowledged  to  be 
capable  of  persuading  and  dissuading  her.  Perhaps  it 
was  because  Amy  had  set  out  with  nothing  but  the  sim 
ple  power  of  love,  which  others  may  have  been  more  chary 
in  exhibiting  in  her  presence. 

While  this  little  scene  was  enacting,  in  rushed  the  whole 
tribe,  from  the  least  unto  the  greatest.  Such  a  snarl  of 
them  !  Such  heads  !  such  faces  !  such  eyes  !  How  they 
stopped !  How  short  they  breathed !  How  eagerly  they 
stared ! 


THE   TATTEEAG   FAMILY.  165 

"Are  these  all  yours  ?"  asked  Amy,  not  a  little  affected 
•with  the  ludicrousness  of  the  sight. 

"  Yes'm,"  she  answered  ;  "  and  a  wuss  set  o'  children  I 
guess  you  never  did  see.  Jackson !  why  don't  ye  wipe 
your  nose  there  ? "  she  called  out  to  one  of  the  boys. 
"  Hain't  ye  got  no  handkerchief  ?  £-lizabeth  Tatterags  ! 
don't  you  see  there's  a  lady  here  ?  An'  do  you  dare  to 
cut  up  any  o'  your  shines  now  ?  These  children  "  —  as  if 
speaking  to  herself  now  —  "will  be  the  death  of  me  some 
day,  I  know.  Can't  make  'em  mind,  more'n  so  many 
mules." 

They  stood  grouped  in  the  farther  corner,  staring  at 
their  sister  thus  leaning  on  Amy,  and  now  and  then  ex 
changing  smiles  and  knowing  looks  with  her.  Amy  could 
not  help  thinking  she  had  never  seen  such  a  hard-looking 
little  horde  before.  Of  the  many  sights  of  human  pov 
erty  she  had  witnessed,  this  stood  ready  to  bear  off  the 
palm. 

"You've  a  good  house  full,  haven't  you?"  she  said  to 
the   mother   encouragingly.     "I   haven't   seen   as   many, 
children  together  in  one  family  in  a  long  time." 

The  woman  said,  "  Well,  she  didn't  know,"  and  smiled, 
and  turned  over  the  baby  in  her  arms  on  its  other  side. 
Then  she  took  another  searching  look  over  her  brood, 
shaking  her  head  at  one,  gazing  with  a  very  severe  intent- 
ness  at  another,  making  a  wry  face  at  a  third,  stamping 
her  foot  at  a  fourth,  then  bestowing  a  quick  glance  at 
Dolly,  who  still  stood  at  Amy's  side,  and  finally  concen- 


166  A.UY    LEE. 

trating  all  her  observational  powers  on  the  infant  in  her 
arms. 

"  I  don't  see  for  the  life  of  me,"  said  she,  turning  full 
on  Amy,  "  how  it  is  you  manage  with  children.  I'm  sure 
I  shouldn't  think  you'd  be  goin'  round  tryin'  to  git  more. 
You  must  have  your  hands  full  all  the  time.  How  do 
you  manage  with  'em,  pray  ? " 

Amy  smiled. 

"  0,  well,"  she  returned,  "  I  try  and  make  them  all  love 
me.  I  don't  think  there  is  any  better  way  than  that." 

The  woman  seemed  incredulously  astonished  at  so  sim 
ple  a  rule  as  this. 

"  But  what  if  they  won't  love  ye  ?  What  if  they  can't 
be  made  to  love  ye  ? " 

Her  earnestness  raised  another  smile  on  the  counte 
nance  of  Amy. 

"  What "  —  she  persisted  —  "  if  there's  no  such  thing 
as  love  in  'em  ?  All  that,  I  think  myself,  is  a  very  pretty 
matter  to  talk  about;  but  to  go  to  work  where  there's 
nothing  to  work  on,  —  that's  quite  another  affair.  E-liza- 
beth  Tatterags  !  le  still !  " 

This  last  emphatic  charge  was  caused  by  the  discovery 
that  the  girl  so  named  was  busily  engaged  in  pulling  the 
hair  of  an  elder  brother  in  the  little  squad,  and  then  dodg 
ing  back  behind  one  of  the  others  for  concealment. 

"  I'm  sure,"  said  Mrs.  Tatterags,  stepping  to  the  low 
window,  and  stooping  down  to  look  out,  "  I  don't  see's 
Isril  is  a-comin'.  I  don't  know  'xacly  where  he  is.  He 


THE  TATTEBAG  FAMILY.  167 

may  be  here  in  a  very  few  minutes,  and  lie  may  not  be 
home  till  dark ;  or  he  may  be  here  in  a  few  minutes.  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  he  was ;  and  I  shouldn't  wonder  if 
he  warn't,  too.  Children,  don't  ye  know  where'bouts 
your  father  is  ?  " 

They  all  sounded  up  in  a  snarl  of  voices,  — 

"  He's  gone  a-fishin',  for  I  seen  him." 

"No,  he  hain't,  nuther;  for  I  seen  him  go  down  into 
the  medder,  with  a  hoe  on  his  shoulder." 

"  He  said  how't  he  was  a-goin'  over  to  Mr.  Rackett's, 
to  help  him  grind  some  scythes." 

The  mother  was  confused.  Amy  was  still  more  so.  It 
was  impossible  to  unravel  a  meaning  from  the  heart  of 
such  an  entangled  jumble. 

Some  time  passed,  during  which  Amy  exerted  herself 
to  reach  their  better  feelings.  She  held  some  further 
conversation  with  the  mother,  urging  her  all  the  while  to 
consent  that  little  Dolly  should  be  sent  to  school,  and 
explaining  to  her  in  various  ways  how  she  would  be  the 
gainer  by  it.  And  seeing  that  there  was  little  prospect 
of  the  father's  coming  home  before  it  would  be  too  late 
for  her  to  think  of  descending  the  mountain,  she  rose  to 
take  her  leave, 

"Well,"  said  she,  at  parting,  "I  will  expect  to  see 
Dolly,  then,  on  Monday  —  shall  I  not  ?  " 

"  0,  la  sakes  !  I'm  sure  I  don't  know.  I  don't  know 
what  to  say  about  it.  But  I'll  see,  wken  her  father  comes 
home." 


168  AMY   LEE. 

"Yes,  mother,"  pleaded  the  child,  pulling  at  her  gown; 
"  do  let  me  go." 

Amy  looked  to  see  if  her  mother  would  say  "  yes." 

"We'll  see;  we'll  see,  ma'am,"  added  the  woman. 
"You're  very  good,  at  any  rate;  and  I'm  not  one  that 
ever  means  to  forgit  such  things.  I  wish  you  good  day, 
ma'am.  Good  day." 

In  a  few  minutes  Amy  had  doubled  the  spur  of  the 
mountain,  and  stood  on  the  broad  plateau,  gazing  at  the 
western  sky.  It  was  beautiful  indeed.  The  clouds  were 
piled  masses  of  purple  and  gold.  They  formed  pavilions 
of  matchless  grandeur  and  glory.  In  the  soul  of  the  wor 
shipful  girl  they  awoke  grand  aspirations,  and  stirred 
inexpressible  longings  after  the  beauty  that  is  hidden 
within  the  veil. 

Dolly  did  come  to  school  on  Monday;  and  Amy  ex 
pressed  her  pleasure  by  presenting  her,  after  school  hours 
were  over,  with  a  nice  pair  of  new  shoes,  bidding  her 
assist  her  mother  all  she  could  at  home,  and  try  and  be 
as  good  a  little  girl  as  she  knew  how. 


•  -:  m 

,. , 

CHAPTER    XV. 

OLIVE   ADAMS. 

AMY  had  been  home  but  a  short  time  one  afternoon, 
after  having  dismissed  her  school,  when  Mrs.  Gummel 
tapped  on  her  door,  and  informed  her  that  there  was  a 
visitor  below,  who  wished  to  see  her. 

"  Mr.  Parsons,  I  conclude,"  said  Amy,  rising,  and  put 
ting  away  her  portfolio. 

"  No,  it's  Olive  Adams ;  Mrs.  Bucclebee's  niece,  you 
know." 

"Ah!  I'll  be  right  down,  Mrs.  Gummel!  I  must 
smooth  out  my  hair  a  little,  for  I  look  like  a  fright." 

Mrs.  Gummel  left  her,  and  in  a  few  minutes  she  was  in 
the  room  with  her  visitor,  talking  away  with  her  at  a 
famous  rate.  One  would  think  they  had  both  been  ac 
quainted  for  months. 

"  I  have  been  promising  myself  the  pleasure  of  a  call 
on  you  this  long  time,"  said  Olive.  "  I  have  thought  a 
great  deal  of  you,  and  felt  that  you  must  want  for  society 
here ;  you  have  probably  been  accustomed  to  a  great  deal 
more  than  one  would  be  apt  to  find  in  a  place  like  this." 

"  0,  no,"  answered  Amy;  "I  have  been  yery  little  in 
15  (169) 


170  AMY    LEE. 

society.  I  have  been  compelled,  from  my  earliest  days,  to 
look  chiefly  for  enjoyment  within  myself.  I  had  the  mis 
fortune  to  lose  my  mother  when  I  was  quite  young." 

Olive  seemed  much  moved  by  this  unexpected  confession. 

"  I  am  without  a  mother  myself,"  said  she,  in  a  lower 
and  a  touching  tone. 

Immediately  a  strong  and  silent  pledge  of  friendship 
had  passed  between  them.  Both  motherless  —  both  hun 
gering  and  thirsting  for  such  love  as  none  but  a  mother's 
heart  knows  how  to  give  —  both  abiding  in  the  shadow 
of  the  same  ceaseless  sorrow  —  it  was  wholly  natural  that 
they  should  give  each  to  the  other  her  deepest  sympathies 
without  hesitation. 

There  was  a  short  pause.    Amy  broke  the  silence  herself. 

41 1  suppose  you  have  lived  in  Valley  Village  a  long 
time,"  said  she.  "  Do  you  not  think  it  a  charming  place  ?  '* 

"  O,  only  three  years,"  answered  Olive.  "  It  is  a  pretty 
spot,  as  every  one  says  who  comes  this  way.  I  have  be 
come  very  much  attached  to  it  too.  I  walk  a  great  deal, 
and  so  I  think  I  can  form  a  pretty  candid  judgment.  Do 
you  like  walking?  " 

"  Very  much ;  I  usually  ramble  away  every  pleasant 
Saturday  afternoon,  and  at  night  after  school  I  very  fre 
quently  take  a  little  scroll,  My  favorite  walk  is  over  in 
the  direction  of  the  bridge,  at  the  north,  I  like  to  climb 
up  that  mountain." 

"  That  is  a  fine  walk.  I  have  often  taken  it  myself. 
But  as  we  live  more  to  the  westward,  on  what  one  might 


OLIVE    ADAMS.  171 

call  a  by-road,  I  am  more  in  the  habit  of  rambling  across 
the  ^meadows  and  pastures  in  that  neighborhood.  I  can 
enjoy  quite  a  pleasant  view  of  our  little  village  from  over 
there,  and  of  the  river  where  it  runs  below  nearer  the 
mills.  Then  we  have  woods  not  a  great  way  from  us,  and 
I  go  into  them  at  times,  and  gather  wild  flowers  of  all 
sorts.  I  have  got  to  be  quite  a  botanist,  I  find,  merely 
from  picking  such  blossoms  as  I  fall  in  with  in  the  woods." 

"  I  should  be  glad  to  go  on  your  little  excursions  with 
you,"  said  Amy.  "  I  like  nothing  better  in  the  world." 

"  Should  you  ?  should  you  ?  Well,  if  there  could  be 
any  thing  more  to  my  mind !  I'm  sure  I  should  be  de 
lighted  to  have  you.  And  I've  been  about  so  much  alone 
too,  aunt  begins  to  think  I  must  have  seen  all  there  is 
worth  seeing.  Sometimes  she  calls  me  a  great  romp." 

"  I  shall  certainly  take  the  first  opportunity,"  returned 
Amy,  "  to  call  on  you  for  one  of  these  exercises.  I  think 
you  will  find,  too,  that  /  am  somewhat  accustomed  to  it. 
You'll  not  tire,  I  hope." 

Her  friend  laughed.  *'  Never  do  you  fear  for  that," 
said  she.  '*  In  fact,  I  do  not  doubt  we  both  shall  get  all 
the  exercise  that  will  be  good  for  us." 

"  My  time  is  not  as  much  at  my  own  disposal  as  yours 
probably  is,"  continued  Amy.  "  But  what  I  do  have  I 
mean  to  make  the  most  of.  And  there's  nothing  I  like 
more,  in  pleasant  weather,  than  to  ramble  in  the  fields  and 
woods.  I  am  very  glad  you  have  consented  to  my  becom 
ing  your  companion." 


172  JLMY    LEE. 

"  I  think  J  shall  have  more  reason  to  be  pleased  with  it 
than  you  will,"  returned  her  companion.  "  But  how  large 
a  school  have  you  now  ?  " 

"  I  count  twenty- three,"  said  Amy. 

"  Well  done  !  That's  a  very  noisy  little  nest  of  them 
—  isn't  it?" 

"  A  very  pleasant  little  nest,"  replied  Amy,  smiling. 
"  I  don't  find  any  fault  with  their  being  noisy.  I  rather 
like  it,  if  any  thing." 

"  Do  you,  indeed  ?  Well  done  !  But  it  does  me  good 
to  hear  one  make  such  candid  confessions.  Now,  if  I  like 
a  tiling,  I  am  always  ready  to  say  so ;  and  I'm  none  the 
less  backward  about  telling  of  it  if  I  don't  like  it.  I  must 
say  I  have  a  partiality  for  candid  people." 

"  So  have  I,"  assented  Amy.  "  Nothing  is  gained  by 
deceit,  I  verily  believe.  It  works  its  own  destruction, 
always." 

"  I  wonder  if  7  would  make  a  good  school  teacher," 
said  Olive,  looking  down  musingly  upon  the  carpet. 
"  What  do  you  think,  Miss  Lee  ?  It  seems  to  me  some 
times  as  if  I  wasn't  doing  any  thing  for  any  body.  My 
idle  way  of  life  reproaches  me." 

"Well,  I  don't  know.  I  am  not  yet  enough  acquainted 
with  your  feelings  to  tell  you.  In  truth,  I  hardly  know 
yet  whether  I  am  going  to  become  a  passable  teacher  or 
not  myself." 

"  You  don't  .hear  what  people  say  of  you  then,  I  suppose." 

Amy  smiled.     It  was  the  first  praise  she  had  received 


OLIVE    ADAMS.  173 

in  her  new  field  of  labor ;  and  few  can  understand  how 
sweet  it  was. 

"  Have  you  much  patience  with  children  ?  "  she  inquired 
of  Olive,  turning  the  subject.  "  I  could  tell  better  how 
good  a  teacher  you  might  make  after  I  find  out  that." 

"  Patience  ?  Yes  —  no  —  yes ;  I  declare,"  —  and  she 
bowed  her  head  as  she  laughed  aloud,  —  "I  can't  tell 
whether  I've  got  any  patience  or  not.  But  at  any  rate, 
when  you  get  better  acquainted  with  me,  and  with  my 
ways,  you  shall  find  out  the  exact  truth ;  and  you  shall 
tell  me  too.  Will  you  promise  that  ?  " 

Amy  felt  a  little  inclined  to  hesitate ;  but  the  matfner 
of  Olive  was  exceedingly  affectionate  and  unconstrained, 
and  they  had  both  suffered  from  the  same  grief. 

"  Then  you're  not  always  inclined  to  be  candid  ?  "  in 
terrupted  Olive,  seeing  her  hesitation. 

Amy's  face  broke  out  in  a  highly  genial  smile ;  so  genial 
that  her  companion  felt  her  heart  drawn  to  her  even  more 
strongly  than  before. 

"  Yes,  I  mean  to  be  candid,"  answered  Amy.  "  But 
you  must  teach  me  one  lesson  in  it  that  I've  not  yet  learned. 
I  hardly  know  how  to  answer  you  as  I  should." 

And  Olive  laughed  again,  and  the  boundaries  of  reserve 
were  faster  and  faster  melting  away. 

Mrs.  Gummel  came  in  at  this  juncture,  and  helped  along 
the  pleasant  understanding  that  had  so  naturally  sprung  up. 

Olive  was  young  yet,  perhaps  about  the  same  age  with 
Amy.  She  had  received  excellent  training,  and  enjoyed 
15* 


174  AMY    LEE. 

the  advantages  of  the  best  schools.  Her  father  had  been 
at  great  pains  with  her  during  his  lifetime,  none  of  which 
had  been  relaxed  by  her  mother.  And  now  her  aunt  car 
ried  forward  the  work,  though  it  must  be  confessed  she 
•was  hardly  the  same  woman  that  Olive's  mother  was.  She 
took  different  views  of  the  world ;  had  a  greater  pride ; 
stood  more  on  empty  formularies ;  and  made  as  much  as 
possible  of  social  state  and  position.  Yet  withal  was  she 
regarded  as  a  generous  woman,  an  excellent  neighbor,  and 
bestowing  charities  with  an  open  and  ready  hand. 

Her  niece  was  a  sprightly  and  vivacious  girl,  a  child  yet 
in  all  her  feelings.  If  she  took  a  sudden  fancy  to  romp 
across  the  fields,  walls  and  fences  stood  not  a  whit  in  her 
way.  She  was  warm-hearted,  frank  to  the  last  degree, 
and  full  of  the  most  generous  impulses.  What  she  thought 
she  was  very  apt  to  say  without  any  reserve.  She  seemed 
to  keep  nothing  back,  and  best  liked  those  who  were 
equally  ingenuous  and  candid  with  herself. 

In  person,  Amy  saw  at  a  single  glance  that  her  new 
friend  was  much  to  be  admired.  With  a  perfectly  sym 
metrical  figure,  she  possessed  a  face  that  was  full  of  fresh 
ness,  and  an  eye  that  expressed  a  language  never  wholly 
•written.  People  would  very  likely  have  said  she  was 
handsome ;  and  so  they  could  not  help  saying  of  Amy  : 
but -the  types  of  their  personal  beauty  were  strikingly 
distinct.  And  this,  in  turn,  quickened  still  more  the 
already  excited  sympathies  on  both  sides,  making  them 
first  admire,  and  then  love  one  another.  A  beautiful  face 


OLIVE    ADAMS.  175 

has  a  wonderful  power.  Never  is  it  so  powerful  over  the 
heart,  as  when  it  expresses  the  serenity,  and  the  sweetness, 
and  the  love,  that  lie  at  the  centre  of  the  being.  Olive 
had  such  a  face,  in  a  large  degree ;  but  Amy  had  it  still 
more  strikingly.  It  was  enough,  however,  that  they  were 
captivated  at  the  very  first  with  one  another.  That  alone 
promised  a  long  and  close  friendship. 

"  I  was  talking  with  Miss  Lee,"  said  Olive,  addressing 
Mrs.  Gummel,  "  about  what  sort  of  a  teacher  I  should 
make.  What  do  you  think  of  it  ?  " 

"  Well,"  answered  that  lady,  rather  evasively,  "  I  don't 
know  why  you  wouldn't  make  a  good  one." 

"  There,  now  !  Just  hear  that !  Now,  I  beg  you  to 
take  Mrs.  Gummel's  word  for  it,  after  this,  and  set  me 
down  at  once  for  a  proficient  in  that  line." 

"  I  am  very  willing  to,  I  am  sure,"  answered  Amy. 
"  Mrs.  Gummel's  judgment  is  probably  a  great  deal  better 
than  mine." 

*'  Are  you  fond  of  young  children  ?  "  Mrs.  Gummel 
further  asked  her. 

"  0,  very ;  very,  I  assure  you.  Where's  Henry  now  ? 
Bring  in  Henry,  and  just  see  for  yourself!"  And  she 
went  off  again  in  a  merry  peal  of  laughter. 

"  I  think  I'll  offer  to  come  over  to  the  school  house  some 
day,  Miss  Lee,  and  assist  you.  How  should  you  like  a 
little  help  of  that  sort  ?  " 

"  0,  I  should  be  very  glad  to  have  you  come  in  at  any 

time,"  answered  Amy.     "  If.  you  would  but  like  the  work 
s 


176  AMY   LEE. 

as  much  as  I  do,  there  would  be  room  for  us  to  enter  into 
partnership." 

"  What  a  capital  idea  that  would  be,  though !  Mrs. 
Gummel,  how  do  you  think  the  firm  would  sound  to  the 
W0rld  —  Lee  and  Adams  ?  What  do  you  think  of  it  now  ? " 

"  I  don't  think  you  could  get  a  better  one,"  said  Mrs. 
Gummel.  "Why  don't  you,  seriously,  try  it?  Wouldn't 
there  be  scholars  enough  to  support  such  a  project  ?  " 

"  O,  <Jon't  say  any  thing  about  the  support  of  the  thing  ! 
That  would  just  spoil  the  whole  of  it.  Miss  Lee  should 
of  course  pocket  all  the  profits,  for  hers  was  the  enterprise. 
I  should  be  perfectly  content  with  the  office  and  the  re 
sponsibility.  Come,  Miss  Lee,  what  do  you  say  ?  Let 
me  teach  the  alphabet,  for  instance,  as  I  feel  somewhat  at 
home  in  that  department,  and  you  may  take  care  of  the 
balance  !  What  do  you  say  to  it  ?  " 

"  I  will  fall  into  the  arrangement  quite  as  soon  as  you 
will,"  replied  Amy,  laughing  with  the  others. 

All  this  warm-hearted  talk,  offered  for  the  very  purpose 
of  doing  away  with  petty  reserve,  and  thrown  off  in  the 
glee  of  good  spirits  and  the  perfect  abandonment  of  inno 
cent  delight,  gave  Amy  at  once  a  strong  prepossession  in 
favor  of  her  new  acquaintance.  As  time  passed  on,  they 
would  greatly  aid  one  another  in  their  feelings  and  aspira 
tions.  They  would  read  the  same  books,  view  the  same 
landscape  together,  and  enjoy  the  same  rich  and  deep 
emotions.  Olive  had  heard  much  of  Amy  since  her  arrival 
at  Valley  Village,  and  she  thought  she  should  find  in  her 


OLIYE    ADAMS.  177 

the  friend  she  wanted.  And,  on  coming  nearer,  it  was  a 
source  of  undiminished  delight  that,  in  her  first  hopes, 
she  had  not  been  obliged  to  suffer  any  disappointment. 

Olive  took  her  leave  ;  but  not  until  she  had  extorted  a 
promise  from  Amy  to  come  over  to  their  house  on  the 
first  pleasant  afternoon.  "  For,"  added  she,  as  frank  as 
ever,  "  I  want  aunt  to  know  you.  She  will  like  you ; 
and  that  will  be  good  news  enough  for  me.  Will  you 
certainly  come  ?  " 

Amy  promised  to  go  after  school,  at  no  distant  day. 

"  And  it's  strawberry  time  now,"  said  her  friend.  "  You 
love  strawberries,  I  suppose,  like  all  the  rest  of  the  folks. 
Well,  only  come  soon,  and  I'll  see  that  you  get  as  many 
as  you  think  you  can  eat.  Now,  will  you  come  ?  "  And 
she  still  held  Amy's  hand. 

"  I  am  fond  enough  of  strawberries,"  answered  the  lat 
ter  ;  "  but  I  should  need  no  such  additional  temptation,  I 
think." 

Olive  blushed,  smiled  gratefully  for  so  delicate  a  com 
pliment,  and  with  a  friendly  pressure  of  the  hand,  bade 
her  good  afternoon. 

And  Amy  went  to  her  room,  and  in  her  journal  jotted 
down  some  of  those  fresh  and  flowing  feelings  that  formed 
her  new  experience,  with  a  glow  at  her  heart  that  she  had 
that  day  found  another  such  a  friend. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 
IVY  LODGE. 

AFTEK  her  duties  for  the  day  were  concluded,  early  in 
the  succeeding  week,  Amy  locked  the  door  of  the  school 
house,  and,  without  going  home  at  all,  bent  her  steps  in 
the  direction  of  Mrs.  Bucclebee's.  As  Olive  had  described 
it,  and  as  Amy  well  knew,  too,  the  house  was  situated  on 
what  might  be  termed  a  by-road,  to  the  west  of  the  main 
street  of  the  village,  and  conducting  travellers  to  the  town 
that  lay  some  seven  miles  away  in  that  course.  The  walk 
was  a  perfectly  quiet  one,  leading  her  into  the  most  silent 
and  solitary  places.  On  either  side,  the  old  road  was 
bounded  by  stone  walls,  whose  tops  were  spotted  and 
streaked  with  mosses.  Broad  strips  of  grass  were  grow 
ing  on  both  sides  of  the  wheel  tracks,  and  the  softest  and 
greenest  turf  furnished  a  delightful  carpet  for  the  feet  of 
the  traveller. 

It  was  a  calm  and  almost  a  holy  hour,  as  it  always  is  in 
summer,  at  the  close  of  the  afternoon,  in  such  still  country 
places.  Amy  threw  off  her  bonnet,  swinging  it  carelessly 
in  her  hand.  Her  eyes  were  roving  every  where.  They 
Bought  now  the  deeps  of  the  blue  heaven  above  her,  and 

(178) 


IVY    LODGE.  179 

now  they  delighted  themselves  with  the  sights  of  animal 
life  that  were  presented  all  around  her.  She  saw  gay  little 
squirrels  leaping  and  frisking  along  on  the  walls,  and 
young  cattle  romping  in  the  far-off  pastures,  and  birds 
fluttering  among  the  leafy  branches  of  the  trees.  She 
caught  the  sound  of  the  lowing  of  the  kine,  of  the  singing 
of  the  birds,  and  now  and  then  of  the  babbling  and  rip 
pling  of  the  brooks.  The  fragrant  air  was  so  grateful  to 
her  forehead,  after  escaping  from  the  confinement  of  the 
school  room.  She  was  refreshed  by  the  odors  from  so 
many  flowers,  blossoming  every  where  in  the  thick,  green 
turf.  The  colors  of  the  western  sky  kindled  indescribable 
feelings  in  her  soul.  Her  spirits  grew  innocently  gay  and 
sprightly.  She  felt  a  sense  of  gratitude  continually  steal 
ing  over  her,  that  so  much  enjoyment  was  freely  her  own. 
She  would  have  skipped  like  a  child,' in  her  joy.  She 
would  have  sung,  trying  to  imitate  the  outgushing  chorals 
of  the  happy  birds.  She  longed  for  wings,  to  soar  into 
the  blue  depths  that  stretched  away,  and  far  away,  above 
her  forever. 

Occupied  with  a  swift  succession  of  such  thoughts  and 
feelings  as  these,  she  soon  found  herself  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  place  to  which  her  feet  were  directed.  The  first 
signs  of  it  discoverable  were  a  neat  garden  fence,  winding 
about  a  beautiful  curve  in  the  road.  Beyond  was  a  thick 
nest  of  foliage  ;  and  out  from  the  trees  she  saw  a  couple 
of  chimneys.  Then,  as  she  turned  the  curve,  she  came  in 
full  view  of  the  house. 


180  AMY   LEE. 

It  was  a  low  cottage  house,  built  after  a  very  tasteful 
and  somewhat  quaint  design,  and  inwalled  with  dense  and 
dark  shrubbery.  Countless  evergreens  had  been  with  great 
care  transplanted  from  the  woods,  and  were  now  growing 
vigorously  all  over  the  yard.  A  neat  gravel  walk  wound 
about  a  circular  plat  of  turf  up  to  the  piazza  ;  and  as  the 
gate  stood  open,  Amy  without  further  hesitation  went 
through. 

The  nearer  she  went  to  the  house,  the  better  pleased 
she  was.  It  offered  to  her  eyes  a  picture  of  serene  con 
tentment  and  calm  ease.  The  little  piazza,  with  the  front 
windows  of  the  house  reaching  down  to  its  floor,  invited 
her  very  sensibly  to  repose.  The  flower  pots  on  the  stand 
look  inviting  and  tasteful,  carrying  a  sweet  touch  of  na 
ture  right  into  the  dwelling  itself.  The  vines  that  twined 
with  so  much  affection  about  the  posts  robed  the  whole 
with  a  grace  and  a  beauty  that  were  irresistible. 

While  she  was  slowly  walking  onward,  her  thoughts 
intent  on  the  many  delights  that  offered  themselves  to  her 
senses,  suddenly  she  observed  a  movement  of  some  white 
object  in  the  bushes ;  and  before  she  was  able  fully  to 
collect  herself,  out  bounded  the  lithe  figure  of  Olive,  hur 
rying  forward  with  extended  hand  to  greet  her.  Her  face 
was  a  perpetual  smile.  Her  lips  were  rosy;  and  she 
showed  a  pair  of  sparkling  eyes  that  gave  character  to  the 
place  itself  immediately. 

"  O,  I  tlwugJit  you'd  come  out  to  Ivy  Lodge,"  ex 
claimed  she.  "  I'm  very  glad  to  see  you.  Come  —  come 


IVY    LODGE.  181 

in  at  once."  And  she  still  kept  hold  of  Amy's  hand,  and 
sought  to  lead  her  along. 

'*  How  beautiful !  how  beautiful !  "  the  latter  was  forced 
to  reply,  before  she  could  answer  particularly  to  Olive's 
remarks.  "  It's  like  a  little  earthly  paradise.  This  is 
poetry ;  this  is  enchantment  itself." 

"  O,  no,"  answered  Olive,  pleased  with  her  friend's 
gratification  ;  "  it's  nothing  but  a  plain  bit  of  nature,  you 
see.  We've  put  forth  no  pretensions  at  all.  It's  only 
what  may  be  accomplished  with  a  very  little  taste  almost 
any  where.  But  come  in ;  I'll  introduce  you  to  aunt 
at  once." 

So  up  the  short  flight  of  wooden  steps  they  climbed, 
crossed  the  piazza,  and  went  in  through  the  door  around 
the  corner.  Amy  was  filled  with  secret  admiration  all 
the  way.  They  reached  a  pleasant  sitting  room  in  the 
back  part  of  the  house,  where  a  lady  was  to  be  seen 
engaged  in  sewing. 

"  Aunt !  "  called  out  Olive  ;  "  aunt ! "  And  the  lady 
turned  her  head. 

Amy  saw  the  face  of  a  woman  of  middle  age,  fair  and 
expressive,  abounding  with  determination,  yet  full  of 
social  kindliness  and  grace. 

"  This  is  Miss  Lee,  aunt,"  said  Olive,  presenting  her 
new  friend.  "  I  tell  her  I'm  glad  enough  she's  come  out 
here,  for  I  have  none  too  much  society  in  so  quiet  a  place 
as  this." 

Mrs.  Bu  ttlebee  rose  and  received  Amy  with  a  cordial, 
16 


182      *  i.MT    LET!. 

though  a  somewhat  stately  grace,  and  asked  her  to  be 
seated.  She  spoke  of  the  delicious  summer  weather,  and 
its  influence  on  herself.  She  asked  Amy  how  she  was 
pleased  with  her  new  life  in  Valley  Village,  and  if  she 
was  altogether  satisfied  with  her  little  school.  She  had 
much  to  say  to  her  about  the  new  and  perhaps  strange 
associations  that  surrounded  her  in  this  calm  country  life, 
and  inquired  to  know  if  they  were  quite  congenial  to  her 
feelings. 

Amy  spoke  in  such  an  easy,  candid,  and  unaffected 
manner,  in  answering  her  questions,  that  Mrs.  Bucclebee 
could  not  fail  to  be  favorably  impressed  with  her  from  the 
first.  She  rendered  glowing  and  almost  romantic  accounts 
of  every  thing  around  her.  It  would  be  very  difficult  to 
say  that  she  disliked  any  thing  at  all.  She  was  satisfied 
with  her  school,  and  more  than  satisfied.  It  even  outran 
her  largest  expectations.  She  had  never  found  more  de 
lightful  scenery,  and  nowhere  rambled  among  so  many 
enticing  landscapes.  The  river  was  a  picture  of  beauty, 
fresh  and  living.  The  mountains  lifted  magnificent  crowns 
to  the  skies  ;  and  she  spent  worshipful  hours  on  their 
sides,  in  the  serene  society  of  these  hoary  old  compan 
ions . 

And  thus  she  went  on.  Mrs.  Bucclebee  herself  was 
warmed  with  what  she  heard  ;  but  Olive  would  fain  have 
embraced  her  friend  over  and  over  again  on  the  spot. 

It  took  not  long  to  bring  about  quite  a  thorough  ac 
quaintance.  They  all  three  seemed  to  understand  one 


ITT    LODGE.  183 

another  at  once.  And  presently  the  conversation  was  as 
free  and  hearty  as  either  one  could  have  desired.  Mrs. 
Bucclebee  be  .-ayed  to  Amy  much  sympathy  with  her  in 
her  relations  to  the  town,  and  expressed  the  hope  in  all 
sincerity  that  she  might  attain  perfect  success  in  her 
undertakings.  Of  course  Olive  was  nowise  behindhand, 
with  her  quick  sympathies,  wishing  her  every  possible 
degree  of  happiness. 

Mrs.  Bucclebee  was  a  woman  who  always  wore  a  look 
of  decision  in  her  face,  and  betrayed  it  quite  as  plainly 
in  her  manner.  She  was  rather  tall  in  figure,  just  enough 
so  to  furnish  her  the  air  of  stateliness  that  best  agreed 
with  her  countenance  ;  given  somewhat  to  the  employ 
ment  of  high-sounding  phrases  and  sentences ;  easily 
touched  in  her  pride,  and  abounding  with  confidence  in 
herself.  These  were  some  of  her  more  prominent  points, 
such  as  a  stranger  of  any  acuteness  of  perception  would 
be  likely  to  remark. 

The  apartment  she  was  in  was  a  rather  spacious  one, 
considering  the  only  comfortable  dimensions  of  the  house, 
quite  tastefully  furnished,  with  its  back  windows  shaded 
by  the  ivy  vines  that  trailed  along  their  sides  and  over 
their  tops.  Amy  saw  every  sign  of  both  comfort  and 
refinement  there ;  yet  nothing  more  than  might  be  done 
in  every  country  home,  if  people  would  but  decorate 
their  hearths  as  they  do  their  pride.  These  delicate  and 
touching  evidences  of  refinement  were  just  what  Amy  in 
that  place  most  longed  to  find ;  and  now  that  her  eyes 


184  AMY    LEE, 

had  in  such  a  variety  of  ways  been  gratified,  she  did  not 
see  why  this  country  life  did  not  contain  within  itself  all 
the  necessary  elements  of  happiness  and  expansion.  This 
quiet  mode  of  existence  was  the  best  to  give  wide  scope 
to  the  thoughts.  It  helped  the  mind  to  introvert  its  eye 
upon  its  own  secret  operations.  It  drove  away  the  fre 
quent  temptations  to  pride,  envy,  frivolity,  and  falsehood. 
O,  this  was  as  sweet  a  life,  as  whole  and  perfect  a- life,  as 
on  earth  could  be  devised.  Why  —  why  did  not  all  men 
flee  from  the  cities  and  the  towns  out  into  the  calm  re 
treats  of  the  country  ?  Why  would  they  shut  the  light 
of  heaven  out  of  their  living  rooms,  and  the  smile  of  God 
out  of  their  hearts,  by  erecting  such  barriers  of  ceremony 
and  conventionalism  before,  and  behind,  and  all  around 
them,  when  so  short  a  step  would  open  them  to  the  recep 
tion  of  all  good  influences,  and  enrich  them  with  all  deep 
and  flowing  experiences  ? 

"  Come,"  said  Olive,  after  they  had  sat  and  chatted  a 
while,  "don't  let's  forget  our  strawberries.  You  shan't 
have  it  to  say  that  I  invited  you  here  to  eat  strawberries, 
and  then,  after  getting  you  here,  had  forgotten  the  feast. 
No  such  thing  as  that." 

Her  aunt  asked  if  any  had  been  picked  that  afternoon. 
f  "  I  don't  know  any  thing  about  that,  aunt,"  she  an 
swered.     "  We  were  going  to  have  the  fun  of  soiling  our 
own  fingers  over  them.*' 

She  smiled,  as  if  that  were  not  altogether  the  best  mode 
of  entertaining  her  company ;  and  Amy  took  occasion  to 


ITT   LODGE.  185 

assure  "her  that  she  would  much  prefer  a  walk  in  the  gar 
den,  which  would  in  some  degree  help  her  to  an  appetite 
when  the  fruit  came  to  be  served. 

"  If  you  have  not  got  one  already,"  added  Mrs.  Buccle- 
bee,  "  I  think  the  walk  out  here  is  something,  certainly. 
But  you  are  at  perfect  liberty  to  do  as  you  like,  however." 

"Yes,  aunt,"  broke  in  Olive,  now  pulling  Tier  friend 
gently  along ;  "  she  wants  to  go  out  and  see  the  garden, 
I  know.  The  air  out  of  doors  is  a  great  deal  pleasanter 
than  it  is  here,  too.  Come  ;  let's  go  a-strawberrying." 

And  with  these  playful  expressions,  affection  and  de 
light  beaming  brightly  in  her  eyes,  she  conducted  Amy 
along  to  the  beds  where  the  ripe  fruit  was  blushing 
beneath  the  leaves,  and  reddening  the  ground  for  yards 
and  yards. 

Amy  could  hardly  contain  her  surprise  at  what  her  eyes 
beheld.  Such  luscious  berries  she  certainly  had  never 
seen  before.  How  temptingly  they  nestled  and  tried  to 
hide  themselves  in  the  leaves  !  How  juicy  they  looked, 
making  the  beholder's  mouth  water  with  the  most  hasty 
glance  !  How  boldly  and  boastingly  some  of  the  plumper 
ones  thrust  up  their  glowing  heads  through  the  insufficient 
leaves,  showing  to  such  dainty  advantage  by  force  of  the 
contrast  of  the  two  colors  !  What  a  mass  of  richness  they 
presented  to  the  eye,  packing  the  fancy  with  pleasant 
thoughts  of  smiling  plenty,  gushing  ripeness,  bewildering 
redness,  and  a  heaping  bounty  piled  up  without  end  ! 
16* 


186  AMY    LEE. 

For  a  moment  Amy  stood  and  in  silence  enjoyed  her 
astonishment. 

"  Come,"  called  Olive  ;  "  you'll  not  get  your  share,  I'm 
afraid.  Fall  to,  or  I  shall  get  them  all  away  from  you. 
See  there  ! "  and  she  held  up  her  already  deeply  stained 
fingers  ;  "  that's  the  way  to  begin  about  it.  Do  you  think 
you  could  pick  a  quart  in  fifteen  minutes  ? " 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  Amy,  as  she  went  down  to  her 
enticing  work,  "  that  one  could  pick  a  bushel  here  in  that 
time.  I  never  saw  berries  so  large  and  thick.  What  a 
perfect  luxury  this  must  be  to  you  !  " 

"  Yes,  at  first  it  was ;  but  I've  got  a  little  more  used 
to  it  now.  I'd  rather  see  my  friends  eat  them  than  to 
eat  them  myself." 

Olive  had  brought  a  large  bowl  out  with  her,  which  at 
first  she  refused  to  allow  Amy  to  pick  in  at  all.  She  was 
going  to  insist  on  her  eating  what  she  gathered,  and  after 
that,  on  her  returning  to  the  house  and  feasting  herself 
again  on  berries  with  cream.  But  Amy  preferred  to  work 
with  Olive  ;  and  in  a  very  short  time  the  bowl  was  heap 
ing  full  —  a  mass  of  ripe,  rich,  scarlet  fruit. 

They  made  a  short  turn  around  the  garden  walks  before 
going  into  the  house,  which  afforded  Amy  just  the  oppor 
tunity  she  desired  for  looking  at  the  various  plants,  shrubs, 
and  flowers.  The  latter  were  both  profuse  and  beautiful. 
A  gardener  was  regularly  kept  on  the  place,  whose  special 
care  it  was  to  attend  to  these  matters,  and  who  apparently 
performed  his  work  with  thoroughness  and  taste. 


ITT   LODGE.  187 

When  they  reached  the  room  again  where  Mrs.  Buccle- 
bee  was  sitting,  still  engaged  with  her  sewing,  the  latter 
looked  to  learn  their  success,  and  complimented  them  for 
their  nimbleness.  Olive  then  disappeared  for  a  few  min 
utes  ;  but  when  she  returned,  it  was  with  a  salver  covered 
with  dishes  of  the  fruit,  over  which  was  poured  rich  and 
clotted  cream.  It  was  a  tempting  sight  enough.  One's 
mouth  would  water  all  the  sooner  now.  The  berries  were 
fairly  smothered  in  the  cream.  And  their  red  stains  be 
gan  to  shed  themselves  over  the  surface  of  the  liquid,  like 
faint  clouds  of  ruby  wine. 

It  may  not  be  questioned  that  Amy  did  ample  justice 
to  her  part  of  the  feast.  She  declared  again  and  again 
that  she  never  remembered  to  have  eaten  any  thing  one 
half  as  nice  and  tempting.  It  did  Olive  a  great  deal  of 
good  to  see  her  enjoy  them  so  highly ;  and  the  pleasure 
that  spoke  in  Amy's  countenance  every  moment  gave 
utterance  to  the  enjoyment  of  her  heart  within.  Such 
another  garden  entertainment  she  had  not  had,  she  knew 
not  the  time  when. 

It  began  at  length  to  show  signs  of  nightfall.  The  sun 
had  set,  and  twilight  would  soon  be  on.  Amy  feared  lest 
Mrs.  Gummel  might  feel  uneasy  about  her,  inasmuch  as 
she  had  said  nothing  of  this  walk  to  Ivy  Lodge  before 
hand,  and  so  bethought  herself  of  the  necessity  of  a  speedy 
return.  But  she  expressed  herself  many  times  grateful 
for  the  friendly  attentions  shown  her,  and  promised  to  do 
what  was  in  her  power  to  carry  forward  so  agreeable  a 
friendship. 


188  AMY    LEE. 

She  took  her  leave,  Mrs.  Bucclebee  saying  she  should 
be  glad  to  see  her  there  again,  and  always  glad  to  see  her 
there,  and  Olive  wishing  she  would  come  out  and  stay 
\vith  her  all  the  time,  but  insisting,  at  all  events,  that  she 
should  be  a  frequent  visitor. 

As  Amy  walked  homeward  over  the  grassy  road,  she 
felt  that  she  could  spend  her  days  in  such  a  calm  retreat 
as  Ivy  Lodge,  and  thought  she  had  suddenly  discovered 
new  and  strange  ties  to  hold  her  heart  to  this  pleasant 
little  village. 

From  this  day  forward  she  and  Olive  were  close  friends. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 
LEAVES  FROM  A  JOURNAL. 

"  Saturday  night.  This  has  been  one  of  my  happiest 
weeks  here.  My  little  school  becomes  all  the  time  more 
and  more  interesting.  It  enlists  my  feelings  almost  entire 
ly.  How  I  love  those  little  children  no  one  can  tell.  I 
take  as  great  delight  in  teaching  them  their  letters,  and 
even  more  delight,  than  if  I  were  engaged  in  what  the 
world  might  think  *  bigger  business.'  For  me,  there  is 
a  mysterious  charm,  colored,  too,  with  the  thought  of 
responsibility,  in  opening  to  infant  minds  the  outer  doors 
of  knowledge,  and  truth,  and  expansion.  My  thoughts 
follow  my  present  daily  labor  along,  till  I  can  see  those 
same  little,  ones  who  now  stand  at  my  knee,  passed  out 
into  the  wider  fields  of  life's  action,  or  entered  on  the 
experiences  of^  another  and  a  better  world.  I  cannot  but 
remember  that  what  I  now  teach  will  be  making  itself 
felt  on  the  character  then  ;  and  in  all  humility  I  pray  God 
to  enlighten  me,  that  I  may  lead  them  into  no  other  than 
the  true  paths. 

"  On  Saturday  nights  I  am  in  the  habit  of  looking  back 
over  the  week  just  gone,  and  reviewing  my  work ;  if  I 

(139) 


190  A.MT    LEE. 

think  I  can  find  that  I  have  been  faithful,  not  only  help 
ing  others  to  progress,  but  maki'ng  progress  likewise  my 
self,  dispensing  around  me  true,  and  graceful,  and  beautiful 
influences,  teaching  by  my  daily  and  hourly  example  only 
love,  and  simplicity,  and  faith  —  then  I  am,  above  all  pos 
sibilities,  happy.  But  this  thought  of  duty  performed  I 
cannot  at  all  times  enjoy.  Now  I  am  lax,  and  weary,  and 
faint ;  now  I  grow  forgetful,  and  lose  sight  of  the  spirit 
that  ought  to  hold  out  its  clear  and  steady  illumination 
within.  I  can  only  keep  my  heart  in  all  humility.  I  can 
only  burn  for  more  faith,  more  love,  more  strength  to 
resist  and  to  rise. 

"  To-morrow  is  Sunday  again.  There  is  nothing  that  I 
like  the  approach  of  more  than  these  quiet  Sundays.  I 
know  not  if  they  be  as  pleasant  in  winter,  but  I  have 
never  experienced  such  calm  enjoyments  as  they  hold  out 
to  me  in  summer.  The  people  will  all  go  silently  along 
to  church  again,  —  fathers,  and  mothers,  and  children,  — 
tramping  over  the  soft  turf  in  the  village  street.  The 
familiar  faces  will  show  themselves  in  the  accustomed 
pews  ;  there  will  be  the  same  sweet  music  from  the  village 
choir ;  I  shall  hear  again  the  welcome  voice  of  our  good 
minister,  whom  I  have  learned  to  love  so  much ;  all  my 
little  pupils  will  be  gathered  about  me  over  the  church ; 
the  air  from  out  of  doors  will  draw  through  the  opened 
windows  ;  my  spirit  will  be  calm,  serene,  worshipful ;  and 
I  shall  be  indeed  happy  !  These  Sabbaths  are  my  dear 
delight.  They  offer  me  the  true  rest.  I  take  such  sweet 


LEAVES    FKOM    A   JOURNAL.  191 

repose,  for  which  my  soul  is  continually  longing.  Earth 
seems  then  to  have  become  holy.  Its  landscapes  are 
bathed  in  a  beautiful  atmosphere,  that  seems  almost 
spiritual.  O,  if  the  people  in  the  cities  knew  how  much 
sweetness  there  is  in  this  simplicity  !  How  much  added 
and  enlarging  trust  comes  by  putting  off  what  is  proud, 
and  worldly,  and  frivolous  !  How  the  heart  best  expands 
in  this  atmosphere  of  purity,  living  on  the  bracing  aira 
that  blow  straight  from  heaven  !  " 

"Wednesday  night.  Over  at  Ivy  Lodge  again  this 
afternoon,  Olive  having  come  to  the  school  house  to  meet 
me  as  soon  as  I  had  dismissed  my  little  ones.  I  am  more 
and  more  delighted  with  that  place,  and  with  my  acquaint 
ance  there.  Olive  seems  to  be  to  me  a  friend  indeed. 
Her  feelings  are  very  ardent  and  impulsive,  and  her  sym 
pathies  are  all  exceedingly  acute.  She  is  so  very  frank, 
too,  I  cannot  believe  that  falsehood  can  dwell  in  her  pres 
ence.  We  have  had  strawberry  feasts,  till  the  berries  are 
all  gone  ;  and  now  we  turn  more  particular  attention  to 
the  flowers,  studying  their  habits  and  peculiarities.  Olive 
is  a  good  botanist,  and  I  have  learned  much  from  hearing 
her  talk  of  her  favorites  in  the  garden.  I  think  I  must 
study  botany  myself.  It  will  furnish  me  the  pleasantest 
companionship  when  I  roam  the  woods  and  fields.  It 
amazes  me  every  day  to  see  how  the  volume  of  nature  is 
continually  opening.  I  knew  there  was  a  vast  and  unex 
plored  world  over  our  heads,  but  there  are  few  who  think 
worlds  there  are  beneath  our  very  feet. 


192  AMY   LEE. 

"  Mrs.  Bucclebee  is  devoted  to  Olive ;  yet  it  is  not  tho 
devotion  one  would  find  in  a  mother.  No  person  can  ever 
hope  to  supply  to  a  child  the  place  of  a  lost  mother.  Olive 
loves  her  aunt,  I  feel  satisfied ;  and  her  aunt  thinks  that 
the  affection  is  abundantly  returned,  no  doubt ;  but  I 
should  hardly  wish  any  friend  to  teach  me  all  the  time  the 
precepts  of  a  worldly  pride,  that  I  might  not,  by  any  mis 
take,  fail  in  due  time  to  make  a  flattering  appearance  and 
sensation.  Olive  has  a  singularly  sweet  and  amiable 
nature,  and  a  kind  hand  ought  rather  to  pull  out  such 
hurtful  weeds,  than  to  be  at  pains  to  plant  them  over  and 
over  again.  It  is  plain  that  the  niece  and  the  aunt  are 
none  too  closely  related  in  spirit,  however  close  the  visible 
connection.  Mrs.  B.  is  a  very  dignified  woman,  and  never 
seems  to  forget  herself:  she  is  always  self-possessed.  I 
sometimes  wish,  when  I  am  sitting  in  their  company,  that 
she  would  by  some  accident  once  lose  her  balance,  and 
show  herself  nothing  but  a  woman  !  She  gazes  at  me  so 
strangely  with  her  piercing  dark  eyes,  too,  as  if  she  was 
not  quite  sure  yet  that  she  understood  and  had  read  me 
thoroughly.  Olive  is  so  different !  I  cannot  seem  to  ex 
plain  it  to  my  entire  satisfaction. 

"  But  she  is  a  good  girl,  and  has  won  my  deepest  love 
already.  I  spend  many  an  hour  with  her,  that  I  should 
otherwise  spend  alone.  We  walk  much  together,  across 
the  pastures  and  through  the  woods.  Already  we  have 
climbed  the  mountains,  both  of  them,  and  I  have  listened 
in  silent  delight  to  her  admiration  of  the  grand  scene  at 


LEAVES  FROM  A  JOURNAL.  193 

our  feet.  She  is  as  enthusiastic  as  I  am  myself  in  her 
admiration  of  landscape ;  and  I  am  very  sure  she  is  much 
more  impulsive  in  betraying  it. 

"  Once  we  went  together  to  see  my  little  friend  Dolly  — 
the  only  time  Olive  had  been  in  sight  of  the  house.  She 
expressed  her  astonishment  at  what  she  saw,  and  com 
mended  me  for  seeking  out  such  people  to  do  them  good. 
Ah,  if  I  were  sure  that  I  could  but  do  them  any  good ! 
Yet  let  me  be  faithful  to  the  little  I  have  undertaken,  and 
hopeful  likewise.  It  is  we  who  must  labor,  but  it  is  the 
Father  alone  who  gives  the  increase.  So  let  me  trust. 
Nothing  is  of  me.  I  am  but  a  grateful  borrower.  I  shine 
only  by  the  light  that  is  placed  within  me.  It  must  be 
my  care  that  that  light  is  not  hidden  away  from  others." 

*'  Monday  night.  What  a  pleasant  surprise  I  have  had 
to-day  !  First,  there  came  a  letter  from  one  of  my  old 
music  scholars  in  Boston,  offering  me  all  sorts  of  affection 
ate  wishes,  and  hoping  I  should  be  willing  to  go  back  to 
town  again  next  winter.  I  don't  know  about  that  yet.  I 
find  I  like  the  country  so  much  that  if  it  is  at  all  practica 
ble,  I  should  be  glad  to  see  if  a  winter's  experience  might 
not  be  quite  as  pleasant  and  profitable.  Perhaps  I  should 
prefer  the  winter  here  to  the  summer.  Who  can  tell  ? 

"  Second,  little  Dolly  came  to  school  this  morning,  clad 
in  a  new  and  tasteful  dress,  and  looking  the  picture  of 
prettiness  and  grace,  And  when,  after  school  was  over,  I 
asked  her  in  a  whisper  who  made  the  clothes  'for  her,  and 
who  had  shpwn  her  how  to  wear  them  so  tastefully,  my 
17 


194  AMY   LEE. 

heart  svas  thrilled  with  unspeakable  delight  to  hear  it  was 
all  the  work  of  my  dear  friend  Olive  I  O,  what  money 
could  purchase  such  happiness  !  She  has  carried  the  feel 
ing  into  more  hearts  than  one,  and  by  so  simple  and  deli 
cate  an  act  as  this.  Who  would  not  be  charitable,  and 
generous,  and  kind,  when  the  reward  is  so  boundless  and 
enriching  ? 

"  Of  course  I  went  over  to  Ivy  Lodge  after  school  at 
night,  on  purpose  to  thank  my  dear  friend  for  so  accepta 
ble  a  service ;  for  it  is  no  less  a  cause  of  gratitude  to  me 
than  to  the  little  child  whom  her  gift  more  immediately 
serves.  She  knew  the  interest  I  took  in  Dolly,  and  it 
must  have  been  that  she  was  first  led  to  this  kindness  by 
her  regard  for  me.  I  did  not  have  to  go  all  the  way  to 
Ivy  Lodge,  for  I  met  her  on  the  road,  coming  over  to  the 
school  house.  It  was  a  pleasant  surprise  for  me.  When 
I  told  Olive  how  grateful  I  felt  —  <  0,  pray  don't  think 
that  was  any  thing,'  said  she  in  her  engaging  way ;  '  1 
only  thought  I  would  encourage  your  little  friend  a  trifle, 
and  am  glad  enough  if  I  have  done  the  least  good.'  f 

"  She  knew  not  how  much  good  she  had  done.  For  me 
to  see  that  the  work  was  all  of  her  own  hand  was  enough 
to  increase  my  love  for  her  beyond  its  former  limits.  I 
tried  to  thank  her  again  and  again ;  but  she  would  heai 
nothing  of  the  kind,  and  playfully  stopped  her  ears  with 
the  palms  of  her  hands. 

"  Dear  Olive  !  I  sincerely  hope  your  gift  has  done  youi 
pwn  heart  the  good  it  has  done  mine." 


LEAVES    FROM    A    JOURNAL.  195 

"  Wednesday  night.  It  is  midnight  now.  I  am  alone 
in  my  chamber.  I  can  hear  only  the  be£  ting  of  my  own 
heart.  The  wind  is  not  to  be  heard  without,  and  not  even 
a  leaf  on  the  trees  is  ruffled  or  shaken.  I  have  pushed 
aside  the  curtain  for  a  few  moments,  and  sat  at  the  window 
looking  out.  O,  such  beauty,  such  beauty  —  that  surpasses 
description  !  It  can  be  enjoyed  only  in  silence. 

"  The  moon  is  full,  and  it  is  shining  now  with  its  clear 
white  light  all  over  the  street.  Every  household  is  at  rest. 
I  cannot  see  the  faintest  glimmer  of  a  light  any  where  in 
the  little  village.  All  are  sleeping,  and  I  sit  here  awake. 
I  can  have  all  this  happiness  to  myself.  Not  an  echo 
breaks  the  soft  wave  of  silence  that  flows  over  the  town. 
I  do  not  catch  the  sound  even  of  the  humming  beetles 
among  the  trees,  and  about  my  windows.  My  thoughts 
dwell  much  on  the  past  to-night,  and  my  dear  father's 
face  is  before  me.  I  see  him  as  he  used  to  be  to  me,  un 
changed  by  misfortunes.  I  hear  his  voice  again,  and  it  is 
full  of  affection.  O  my  father !  if  you  could  have  lived 
to  show  your  only  child  the  way  among  men !  If  you 
could  but  have  seen  this  day,  and  beheld  me  laboring  here 
with  such  cheerfulness  to  make  myself  and  others  happy, 
would  you  not  have  changed  many  of  your  opinions  of  the 
world's  coldness  and  insensibility  to  kindness  ? 

"  I  cannot  sleep.  My  thoughts  will  not  suffer  me.  It 
is  too  bright  a  night,  and  the  influences  are  too  active  for 
the  heart's  repose.  Earth,  too,  seems  so  lovely,  I  would 
even  be  out  in  this  cool  air,  and  let  it  flow  upon  my  face 


196  AMY    LEE. 

and  temples.  Are  there  such  scenes  as  these  in  the  cities  ? 
Is  the  summer  night  as  sweet  there  —  as  fragrant  with 
delicious  associations  —  as  free  from  all  vicious  exhalations 
—  as  open  to  the  influences  of  Heaven  on  all  sides  ?  Is 
the  moon  shining  there  as  brightly  now  ?  And  does  it 
look  down  on  no  scenes  ^f  crime,  and  terror,  and  wretch 
edness,  that  are  not  to  be  witnessed  here  in  the  retirements 
of  nature  ? 

"  The  summer  is  going  fast  —  so  fast  that  I  can  scarcely 
realize  it  at  all.  My  occupation  takes  up  so  much  of  my 
time,  and  my  friendships  are  so  pleasant,  that  my  heart  is 
kept  full  continually.  This  little  place  has  become  of 
itself  a  great  world  to  me.  I  pray  I  may  slight  no  duty, 
and  forget  no  relation.  Happiness  alone  is  my  aim ;  it  is 
to  be  got  here  as  well  as  elsewhere  ;  more  and  more  certait 
am  I  that  it  comes  not  from  without,  but  only  and  alto 
gether  from  within.  Once  find  the  centre  of  your  existence 
where  it  really  is  —  in  the  good  Father  —  and  the  prob 
lems  and  perplexities  of  the  world  are  like  the  trifling 
puzzles  of  children,  and  as  easily  unravelled." 


CHAPTER     XVIII. 

PROGRESS. 

AMY'S  life  at  Valley  Village  was  continually  affording 
her  the  best  advantages  for  self-culture,  and  opening  to 
her  heart  the  richest  experiences.  She  was  in  a  humble 
vocation,  but  none  too  humble  for  so  faithful  a  disciple. 
It  must  have  been  an  extraordinary  trial  now  that  could 
warp  her  feelings  from  the  line  of  perfect  obedience  she 
had  chosen.  She  saw  the  path  that  conducted  her  to 
peace,  and  her  feet  were  to  be  found  perseveringly  with 
in  it. 

Her  school  went  on  with  all  the  promise  of  its  begin 
ning.  She  had  but  two  dozen  scholars,  but  they  were 
enough.  Their  tuition  brought  her  in  an  ample  support, 
and  left  her  something  in  her  purse  besides  to  do  good 
with.  Day  after  day  she  sat  patiently  through  the  dreamy 
summer  weather  in  her  buzzing  school  room,  teaching  one 
tender  one  to  spell,  another  to  read,  a  third  to  sew,  a 
fourth  its  letters,  and  all  of  them  the  beauty  and  the  har 
mony  of  sing'.ng.  This  last  was  the  exercise  of  the  day 
to  which  all  looked  forward  with  delight.  If  a  visitor 
had  at  any  time  looked  in  on  her  during  those  calm 
17*  (197) 


198  AMY   LEE. 

afternoons,  she  would  have  found  many  a  weary  one 
stretched  out  in  slumber  on  the  bare  wooden  benches, 
with  her  little  arm  laid  carefully  across  her  breast.  Or 
she  might  have  heard  the  pleasant  hum  of  youthful  voices 
going  in  concert  all  over  the  room,  as  the  little  brood 
conned  their  lessons  half  aloud. 

The  mothers  of  the  children  not  unfrequently  dropped 
into  school  of  a  quiet  afternoon,  at  Amy's  own  request ; 
she  showed  them  how  engaged  she  was  herself  in  their 
offspring's  welfare,  and  so  incited  them  to  increased  inter 
est  in  the  purpose  she  had  set  out  to  accomplish.  If  she 
could  receive  their  cooperation,  what  more  was  there  to 
be  asked  for  ? 

And  parents  and  children,  therefore,  learned  to  feel  very 
much  at  home  in  that  old  school  room  together,  and  even 
looked  forward  with  as  much  pleasant  satisfaction  to  their 
reunions  there  as  if  they  were  all  scholars  and  all  youth 
ful.  Amy  was  visibly  encouraged  by  it.  Her  heart  was 
made  inexpressibly  glad ;  Olive  knew  how  glad,  for  she 
was  the  recipient  of  all  her  confidences  ;  and  Mrs.  Gum- 
mel,  too,  understood  something  of  it,  for  with  so  good  a 
friend  as  she  Amy  was  frank  and  confiding  in  the  extreme. 
The  signs  multiplied  on  every  hand  that  promised  to  keep 
Amy  in  Valley  Village  even  after  the  summer  was  gone. 
She  read  them  herself  in  the  praise  of  others;  in  their 
wondering  why  they  never  could  have  such  a  school  be- 
fcre  ;  in  the  marked  favor  with  which  she  was  met  by  the 
entire  population,  male  and  female,  men,  women,  and 


PBOGRESS.  199 

children ;  in  the  love  of  her  pupils  themselves,  some  of 
them  telling  her  in  an  exceedingly  affectionate  way  that 
they  hoped  she  never  would  go  away,  and  that  she  would 
keep  school  just  as  long  as  they  went. 

Amy  passed  much  of  her  spare  time,  too,  with  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Parsons.  There  were  no  better  people  thereabout 
than  the  good  clergyman  and  his  wife.  In  their  society 
Amy  was  neighbor  to  all  noble  and  exalting  influences. 
She  was  very  fond  of  running  in  as  she  passed  along 
home  from  school,  and  chatting  a  few  minutes  with  Mrs. 
Parsons,  who  certainly  enjoyed  it  as  much  as  herself.  In 
the  course  of  these  unceremonious  little  visits,  Amy  caught 
many  new  thoughts  about  the  aims,  and  enjdyments,  and 
satisfactions  of  life,  and  drank  in  fresh  inspirations  of  love 
and  truth.  By  so  many  more  bonds  was  she  held  to  the 
clergyman's  family.  It  would  be  a  lasting  loss  to  her  to 
be  obliged  to  go  away  from  the  sphere  of  their  lovely 
influence.  Whenever  she  had  been  talking  with  them  for 
a  half  hour,  she  would  go  home  to  her  chamber,  wonder 
ing  what  secret  power  it  was  that  gave  the  world  such  a 
new  aspect  and  atmosphere.  She  left  care,  and  anxiety, 
and  all  thoughts  of  a  troublesome  future  behind  her,  and 
came  out  into  the  glorious  air  of  trust,  and  hope,  and  per 
fect  love,  expanding  her  soul  with  the  deep  draughts  of 
the  new  element  in  which  it  was  bathed. 

Mr.  Parsons,  too,  never  forgot  to  call  on  her  in  her 
school,  when  the  opportunity  offered,  or  even  if  he  chanced 
to  be  walking  by ;  and  the  affection  he  showed  for  all  of 


200  AMY   LEE. 

them  helped  the  growth  of  the  school  wonderfully.  There 
is  no  more  vigorous  nutriment  for  any  plant  than  love. 
First  it  engages  ;  then  it  surrounds  and  enriches ;  and 
lastly  it  gives  strength  and  power.  So  the  little  school 
felt  its  energies  increase  gradually  with  its  affection. 
Amy  had  intentionally  struck  this  chord  at  the  beginning ; 
and  now  she  was  enjoying  to  the  utmost  the  satisfactions 
that  flow  always  from  the  heart  rather  than  the  head. 

Her  way  of  life  at  the  pleasant  cottage  of  Mrs.  Gummel 
was  exceedingly  enjoyable.  That  lady  had  shown  her  so 
much  friendliness  and  sympathy  from  the  first,  that  al 
though  Amy  might  at  any  moment  have  been  joyfully 
received  into  the  bosom  of  Mr.  Parsons's  family,  she  felt 
an  attachment  for  her  which  would  not  suffer  her  to  think 
of  leaving  the  little  roof  she  was  under.  Mrs.  Gummel 
loved  the  character  of  her  new  boarder  more  and  more.  She 
became  exceedingly  fond  of  her  society.  Evenings,  after 
the  cares  of  the  day  were  put  by,  they  used  to  sit  in  the 
little  parlor  at  the  open  windows,  and  chat  by  the  hour  of 
the  thoughts  and  feelings  that  made  the  mingled  web  of 
their  separate  experiences.  Frequently  they  would  revert 
to  the  day  when  they  first  met  in  the  stage  coach,  and 
each  would  repeat  her  gratitude  for  the  occurrence  of  so 
happy  a  circumstance  in  their  lives. 

Much  attention,  too,  was  Amy  in  the  habit  of  bestow 
ing  upon  Henry.  He  was  an  amiable  boy,  devoted  to 
his  mother,  always  to  be  found  about  home,  and  disposed 
in  every  wav  to  make  improvement.  Whatever,  therefore, 


PEOGSESS.  201 

his  mother  or  Amy  told  him  he  was  eager  to  heed  and 
remember.  Parents  all  over  the  village  were  in  the  habit 
of  pointing  their  children  to  Henry  as  a  most  exemplary 
boy,  and  one  whose  many  good  qualities  would  furnish 
them  with  excellent  patterns. 

During  the  summer  he  busied  himself  about  home  with 
his  mother,  hoeing  and  spading  in  the  garden,  running  of 
errands,  assisting  in  whatever  little  matters  assistance  was 
desirable,  and  making  himself  no  less  useful  than  happy. 
He  had  a  disposition  like  the  sunshine.  Every  thing  went 
smoothly  with  him ;  or  if  it  did  not,  no  one  was  the  wiser 
for  his  complaints.  Such  a  thing  as  fretfulness  was  with 
him  quite  out  of  the  question.  In  his  leisure  he  was  in 
the  habit  of  reading  such  books  as  he  could  procure,  some 
times  running  over  to  Mrs.  Parsons  to  see  if  she  was  not 
in  the  receipt  of  something  he  had  not  yet  seen.  Amy 
loved  to  lend  him  all  the  books  she  had  brought  with  her, 
and  would  sit  and  hear  him  read  them  aloud  at  night  or 
early  in  the  morning,  engaged  herself  the  while  with  her 
needle.  She  felt  that  it  was  a  source  both  of  delight  to 
herself  and  of  improvement  to  him. 

The  village  people  proved  good  friends  to  Amy,  all  of 
them;  though  there  was  quite  as  great  a  diversity  as 
might  be  looked  for  generally  among  .so  many  characters, 
and  the  motives  that  influenced  them  were  as  various  as 
the  individuals  themselves.  There  was  Dr.  Sillby,  the 
only  physician  there  was  in  the  village,  who  had  a  very 
bluff  way  with  him,  and  was  as  apt  to  make  his  jokes  as 


202  AMY   LEE. 

uncomfortably  practical  as  any  body's,  —  he  was,  after  all, 
a  stanch,  friend  to  the  little  village  school,  and  never  hesi 
tated  to  lend  it  the  support  that  might  be  expected  from 
a  man  in  his  social  position.  Amy  was  but  triflingly 
acquainted  with  his  family,  however ;  for,  save  the  one 
girl  he  sent  to  her  for  instruction,  there  was  little  else  to 
draw  her  into  his  house.  His  wife  was  a  feeble  woman, 
never  quite  well,  and  always  quite  gloomy.  He  never 
came  home  but  she  had  a  call  for  him  —  some  new  com 
plaint  whose  diagnosis  was  a  mystery  no  less  to  him  than 
to  the  entire  medical  faculty.  She  rarely  wanted  any 
society,  unless  it  might  be  the  society  of  those  who  were 
willing  to  listen  in  resigned  silence  to  her  complainings, 
and  such  were  few  indeed  through  the  length  and  breadth 
of  the  village.  Yet  Dr.  Sillby  himself,  as  if  to  fulfil  the 
law  of  compensation  in  this  matter,  was  a  remarkably  jolly 
man,  and  hardly  ever  opened  his  mouth  to  speak  unless 
ae  laughed  first.  So  opposite  were  their  tastes  and  ten 
dencies  in  these  things,  people  used  to  wonder  what  it 
was  that  ever  brought  them  together  in  marriage  ;  and 
people  were  still  expressing  their  wonder  about  it  as  freely 
as  ever  when  Amy  went  to  Valley  Village  to  gain  her 
summer's  short  experience. 

Of  all  her  pupils,  perhaps  Amy  became  the  most  ob 
servably  attached  to  little  Dolly  Tatterags.  As  the  child 
went  on  with  her  daily  instructions  at  school,  her  progress 
was  rapid  and  perceptible.  Her  manners  improved,  too, 
and  she  became  graceful  and  attractive.  Amy  labored 


PROGRESS.  208 

with  patience  t  >  help  her  unlearn  the  many  uncouth  and 
not  altogether  proper  expressions  she  had  been  taught  at 
home,  and  supplied  her  with  prettier  and  more  lovely 
phrases,  that  better  became  the  person-  and  the  heart  of  a 
young  creature  so  fair. 

She  continued  to  be  a  very  frequent  visitor,  likewise,  at 
the  Tatterag  domicile,  and  when  there  always  offered  the 
mother  some  new  token  of  her  kind  sympathy.  The  latter 
very  soon  came  to  change  her  views  of  the  world  entirely ; 
and  Amy  had  been  the  unconscious  instrument  of  the 
same.  Wheras  Mrs.  Tatterags  had  heretofore  soured  her 
thoughts  with  a  continual  apprehension  of  injury  and 
hatred  from  those  more  agreeably  situated  in  life  than 
herself,  and  had  always  looked  upon  the  slightest  proffer 
of  friendship  or  assistance  with  a  suspicion  that  made  her 
at  times  perfectly  miserable,  now  she  was  fast  opening  her 
eyes  to  an  altogether  pleasanter  truth,  and  had  already, 
before  the  summer  was  gone,  come  into  the  better  belief 
that  there  was  such  a  thing  in  this  world  even  as  love,  and 
that  it  would  work  far  mightier  results  than  all  the  powers 
of  hatred,  and  suspicion,  and  jealousy  combined. 

The  words  of  Amy,  ever  gentle  and  full  of  tender  sym 
pathy,  lodged  in  the  good  soil  of  her  heart.  They  fructi 
fied  and  sprang  up  like  seed  that  had  been  sown,  and 
promised  in  time  to  perform  an  acceptable  office.  There 
was  now  more  room  for  the  sunlight ;  and  as  fast  as  that 
entered  in,  of  course,  the  darkness  fled  away.  In  no  one 
thing  was  the  change  in  the  woman  so  perceptible  as  in 


204  AMY  LEE. 

her  habit  of  querulousness  and  complaint.  Now  she  really 
began  to  see  something  to  live  for.  Her  many  children 
were  no  longer  a  burden ;  they  furnished  her  with  sources 
of  comfort  and  happiness.  She  treated  them  more  like  a 
mother,  devoted  to  the  welfare,  rather  than  the  successful 
riddance,  of  her  offspring.  It  was  not  as  easy  to  move 
her  husband,  and  Amy  saw  but  little  of  him.  He  was  off 
the  most  of  the  time,  now  straggling  in  the  neighborhood, 
and  now  picking  up  such  easy  jobs  as  he  felt  willing  to 
perform.  But  there  was  a  chance  left  to  set  him  right  — 
it  would  be  through  his  favorite  little  daughter.  He  began 
to  be  proud  of  her  already. 

And  so  Amy  worked,  and  worked  on.  She  suffered  her 
spirit  to  relax  none  of  its  energies,  and  sought  of  Heaven 
continually  the  needed  strength  to  carry  forward  her  la 
bors.  She'  was  hopeful,  and  patient,  and  full  of  faith.  In 
good  ti  ie  she  would  see  the  fruits  of  her  doings. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 
DOLLY  IN  A  NEW  PLACE. 


AMY  had  planned  a  pleasant  surprise  for  her  young 
pupil,  one  Saturday  afternoon ;  so  on  the  Friday  night 
before,  when  she  went  home  from  school,  she  bade  her 
dress  herself  as  tidily  as  she  could  on  the  next  day,  for 
she  was  to  go  home  at  noon  with  her ;  and  after  dinner 
she  promised  Dolly  they  would  go  visiting  together. 

Of  course  Dolly's  mother,  now  that  her  feelings  had 
undergone  such  modification,  was  exceedingly  pleased  with 
the  idea.  Her  vanity  might  have  been  touched  as  well 
as  her  heart ;  for  mothers  will  continue  to  be  proud  of 
their  children,  especially  if  they  think  there  is  any  ground 
for  it,  till  the  last  day  allowed  them.  Mr.  Tatterags 
heard  what  was  to  be  done,  for  his  little  daughter  herself 
told  him ;  but  he  merely  turned  his  head  away,  uttered  a 
lazy  "pooh,"  and  went  on  fondling  her.  Yet  he  was 
secretly  touched  with  this  new  proof  of  Amy's  regard  for 
his  child,  only  he  lacked  the  manliness  and  the  truth  to 
admit  it.  There  are  thousands  more  in  the  world  very 
much  like  him. 

It  gave  Amy  the  sincerest  pleasure  to  see,  the  next 
-18  (205) 


206  JLMT   LEE. 

morning,  when  the  children  began  to  assemble  in  the 
school  room,  that  Dolly  had  been  decked  out  by  the  hand 
of  her  mother  in  the  very  best  attire  that  belonged  to  her, 
and  tc  look  into  a  face  so  bright  and  happy  as  hers  was 
for  thinking  of  the  happiness  that  day  was  to  bring.  The 
child's  heart  danced  with  delight ;  and  it  was  evident  she 
could  scarcely  restrain  her  feet  from  a  good  hop-skip-and- 
a-jump  across  the  floor.  A  smile  rested  on  Amy's  face, 
which  she  exerted  herself  to  conceal,  when  she  saw  some 
of  the  trifling  subterfuges  to  which  the  mother  was  driven 
in  dressing  her,  and  some  of  the  odd  combinations  of  taste 
and  fancy  that  were  here  and  there  so  readily  discoverable 
about  her. 

Little  Dolly  got  up  from  her  seat,  and  for  a  moment 
hesitated.  The  other  children  kept  coming  in.  Now  she 
threw  a  timid  glance  at  Amy,  and  now  at  the  door.  Her 
face  wore  very  changeful  expressions.  Amy  was  narrowly 
watching  her,  and  was  much  interested  to  understand  the 
mystery  of  her  behavior. 

Finally  the  child  thrust  out  a  foot  into  the  floor,  and 
started  for  her  teacher's  chair  with  all  speed. 

"  Please,  ma'am,"  said  she,  the  instant  she  reached 
Amy's  side,  while  she  held  down  her  hands  beside  her  and 
drew  short  and  quick  breaths,  —  "  please,  ma'am,  mother 
wants  to  know  if  I  look  Jit" 

This  simple  message,  brought  in  so  earnest  and  sud 
den  a  manner,  made  Amy  smile  now  in  spite  of  herself. 

"  Do  you  look  Jit  ?  "  she  repeated,  trying  to  draw  her 
face  down  to  soberness  ;  "  what  do  you  mean  ? " 


DOLLY    IN    A    NEW   PLACE.  207 

"My  clothes,"  the  child  answered,  looking  quickly 
down  over  them. 

"Why,  certainly,"  said  Amr,  putting  her  hand  gently 
on  her  shoulder.  "  You  look  very  nicely,  I  am  sure. 
Who  brushed  your  hair  so  good  for  you  ?  " 

This  she  asked  in  a  low  voice,  lest  some  of  the  rest 
might  overhear. 

"  My  mother." 

"  Well,  you  must  tell  your  mother,  when  you  go  home 
to-night,  that  she  has  fixed  you  up  quite  prettily.  Will 
you  ? " 

Of  course  no  child  like  Dolly  would  forget  a  message 
like  that.  So  after  a  few  more  words  she  returned  to  her 
seat,  and  the  usual  exercises  of  the  morning  began  in 
their  order. 

Perhaps  Dolly's  thoughts  were  nowhere  but  within  the 
school  room  that  forenoon,  however  many  times  her  eyes 
may  have  wandered  out  the  open  window.  She  best  knew 
about  that  herself.  At  any  rate,  Amy  very  frequently 
observed  that  she  would  hold  her  eyes  dreamily  fixed  on 
the  floor  at  times,  or  on  the  $rees,  or  on  the  sky,  as  if  she 
were  already  trying  to  realize  some  of  the  visions  of  the 
afternoon's  pleasure,  that  floated  like  beautiful  pictures 
across  her  brain. 

The  moment  school  was  done  at  noon,  and  the  rest  of 
the  children  had  cleared  the  room,  Dolly  walked  quietly 
to  her  teacher's  side,  and  stood  waiting  there,  without  a 
word,  for  her  to  start  for  home. 


208  AMY 

Amy  turned  from  what  she  happened  at  the  instant  to 
be  doing,  and  saw  her. 

"  Your  mother  was  perfectly  willing  you  should  go 
home  with  me  to-day  —  wasn't  she  ?  "  asked  she. 

"  O,  yes  ;  and  she  said  she  hoped  I'd  be  a  good  girl, 
too,  and  not  do  any  thing  you  wouldn't  want  me  to." 

"  Well,  I  certainly  trust  you  will  not.  I  guess  you 
mean  to  be  a  pretty  good  gi  rl  —  don't  you  ?  But  come ; 
let  us  go  now  and  get  some  dinner,  and  then  we  will  talk 
about  something  else." 

So  Amy  took  her  by  the  hand,  after  locking  the  door  on 
the  labors  of  another  week,  and  led  her  along  over  the 
grass  to  Mrs.  Gummel's.  She  had  not  told  the  latter  of 
her  intention  to  bring  Dolly  home  with  her,  and  the  sur 
prise  was  a  very  agreeable  one.  Amy  took  her  up  into 
her  room  while  dinner  was  being  prepared,  and  proceeded 
to  show  her  all  the  little  objects  likely  to  interest  her. 
She  opened  her  books  to  the  places  where  engravings 
were  to  be  found,  and  saw  the  child's  eyes  dilate  with 
pleasure.  She  showed  her  such  pretty  needlework  as  she 
happened  to  have  completed,  samples  of  embroidery  and 
the  like,  asking  her  how  long  she  thought  it  would  be 
before  she  should  learn  to  use  the  needle,  and  produce 
tasteful  articles  like  these. 

At  dinner  Dolly  was  lost.  She  sat  by  Amy's  side,  and 
hardly  knew  what  to  do  with  herself.  Amy  helped  her  to 
what  was  on  the  table,  Mrs.  Gummel  finding  there  was  no 
room  for  her  services  at  all.  They  did  not  say  much  to 


DOLLY   EN"   A   NEW   PLACE.  209 

her,  however,  during  the  meal,  lest  she  might  become  too 
much  embarrassed  to  enjoy  it.  But  the  conversation, 
nevertheless,  was  kept  up  briskly,  and  the  child  had  an 
opportunity  to  see  that  happiness  alone  was  at  the  board. 
By  two  o'clock,  or  thereabouts,  Amy  took  her  Ihtle 
friend  by  the  hand,  and  proceeded  to  Ivy  Lodge.  It  had 
been  arranged  between  her  and  Olive  that  she  should 
bring  Dolly  over  there,  in  order  to  open  her  heart  to  the 
loving  influence  of  flowers,  and  the  beautiful  sights  to  be 
seen  in  the  garden.  These  were  what  she  rarely  came  in 
contact  with ;  and  Amy  wished  to  carry  on  the  work  of 
cultivation  which  she  had  begun  in  the  most  varied  way 

possible.     Above  all,  situated  as  the  child  was,  too,  she 

» 
would  instruct  her  to  take  delight  in  nature,  and  learn  in 

that  always  open  book  to  worship  the  good  Father  whose 
work  it  all  is.  Besides,  Olive  had  already  betrayed  inter 
est  enough  in  Dolly  to  wish  to  watch  her  improvement  for 
herself  from  time  to  time,  and  was  now  quite  as  eager  to 
see  her  at  Ivy  Lodge  as  Amy  could  be. 

The  moment  they  reached  the  gate,  the  little  girl  began 
to  exclaim,  — 

"  Isn't  it  pretty  here,  Miss  Lee  ?  " 

"  Very  beautiful,  I  think  myself,"  answered  Amy. 

When  they  got  through  the  gate,  therefore,  Amy  began 
to  point  out  to  her  such  objects  as  would  be  likely  to  fur 
nish  her  the  most  delight.  She  talked  to  her,  walking 
very  slowly  towards  the  house,  about  the  fir  trees,  whose 
green  feathery  boughs  looked  so  gracefully,  thus  pencilled 
18* 


210  AMY    LEE. 

against  the  sky ;  and  the  flower  beds  across  the  garden, 
offering  such  brilliant  colors  to  the  eye ;  and  the  borders 
to  the  walks,  looking  so  fres^y  and  green ;  and  the  cool 
piazza,  whose  posts  were  circled  with  climbing  vines  ;  and 
the  house  roof,  almost  buried  under  the  mass  of  ivy  leaves 
that  clambered  over  it  every  where. 

"  Shouldn't  you  like  to  live  here  ?  "  she  asked  Doily, 
whose  eyes  were  opened  as  wide  as  they  ever  would  be. 

"  O,  yes,"  she  answered  immediately ;  "  but  I  should 
want  mother  to  live  here  too." 

Olive  had  been  waiting  for  her  new  visitors,  and  took 
an  occasional  lookout  for  their  approach  from  the  piazza ; 
and  the  moment  she  saw  them  coming  up  the  walk,  she 
ran  down  the  steps  to  meet  them. 

"  I  began  to  think  you  weren't  coming,"  said  she,  first 
kissing  her  friend  Amy,  and  then  stooping  down  and  per 
forming  the  same  office  for  the  child.  "  What  kept  you 
so  late,  pray  ?  But  I  am  glad  you're  here  at  last,  surely. 
How  do  you  do  to-day  ?  How  do  you  do,  little  one  ? 
Come ;  come  up  on  the  piazza,  and  let's  sit  down  a  min 
ute  on  the  bench.  Aunt  is  lying  down  a  little  while, 
as  she  usually  does  after  dinner ;  so  we'll  not  go  in 
just  yet." 

Amy  thought  it  was  much  pleasanter  on  the  piazza ; 
and  no  doubt  Dolly  was  abundantly  satisfied  with  the 
arrangement,  too,  especially  if  one  were  to  judge  from 
the  delighted  expression  of  her  face. 

They  lifted  her   up  on   th?   seat  between  them,  and 


DOLLY    IN   A   NEW   PLACE.  211 

smiled  at  one  another  to  see  her  little  feet  hang  off, 
swinging  to  and  fro.  Olive  took  a  look  at  her  shoes,  at 
her  honnet,  and  at  her  little  white  dress,  with  the  pink 
bows  secured  to  each  shoulder  just  at  the  place  where  the 
apron  bands  went  over.  And  Amy,  as  she  silently  re 
turned  the  glances  of  her  friend,  certainly  looked  the 
grateful  feelings  she  could  not  speak. 
*  "  Who  dressed  you  so  nicely  ?  "  asked  Olive. 

"  My  mother,"  said  the  child,  looking  so  happily  up  in 
her  face. 

Amy  was  thankful  for  her  asking  the  question;  for 
Dolly  would  be  sure  to  reporj;  it  faithfully  to  her  mother 
on  reaching  home,  and  the  woman  would  secretly  take 
encouragement.  0,  there  are  so  many  ways,  some  of  them 
so  delicate  and  trifling,  too,  in  which  help  may  be  ex 
tended  to  the  suspicious  and  shivering  nature  !  Only  a 
little  generous  feeling,  only  a  single  little  word  spoken 
in  love,  only  a  look  or  a  smile  even,  and  mountains  in  a 
swift  moment  are  removed,  and  all  that  is  pure,  and  noble, 
and  true  is  let  in. 

"Well,"  said  Olive  in  a  very  kind  voice,  "your  mother 
is  a  very  good  mother,  I  am  sure,  to  dress  you  up  so  well. 
Don't  you  think  she  is  ?  Don't  you  love  your  mother 
very  much  ? " 

"  O,  yes,  ma'am,"  Dolly  answered,  her  large  eyes  mois 
tening  ;  and  immediately  she  dropped  her  gaze  to  the 
floor,  and  seemed  lost  in  thought.  The  two  girls  ex 
changed  glances  of  affection  over  her  head.  They  could 


212  AMY   LEE. 

that  moment  have  embraced  one  another  or  cried  together 
for  joy. 

After'  they  had  sat  and  chatted  a  while,  Olive  asked 
Amy  if  she  would  not  take  a  little  stroll  down  the  garden 
•walks  before  they  went  in.  The  latter  readily  assented ; 
and  they  all  three  set  out,  Amy  leading  her  little  friend  by 
the  hand.  Olive  continually  went  before  them,  and  called 
the  child's  attention  to  such  objects  as  were  rare  and  beau 
tiful.  She  gave  her  short  and  pleasant  histories  of  the 
habits  of  some  of  the  flowers,  telling  her  how  they  closed 
when  the  sun  went  down,  and  opened  again  at  its  rising ; 
showing  her  some  that  turned  whithersoever  the  sun 
went,  worshipping  it  like  a  god ;  pointing  out  others  that 
were  so  very  sensitive,  that  the  instant  you  touched  them 
they  shrivelled  and  shrank  as  if  they  were  afraid  of  you ; 
and  explaining  all  the  secrets  and  mysteries  of  the  various 
colors,  showing  her  how  to  mix  them  with  taste  in  little 
bunches  and  bouquets,  and  inquiring  to  know  which  of 
them  all  pleased  her  fancy  the  most,  and  why  she  had  a 
preference  for  them. 

If  Dolly  was  delighted  with  what  she  heard  and  saw, 
Olive  was  hardly  less  so.  The  perfect  innocence  and 
ingenuousness  of  the  child  took  her  heart  captive  in  spite 
of  herself.  Her  frank  and  ready  answers  charmed  her. 
The  dancing  expressions  of  delight  that  were  from  one 
moment  to  another  visible  on  her  countenance  made  her 
heart  feel  fresh,  and  sweet,  and  whole.  It  was  like  the 
influence  of  a  beautiful  picture  to  her ;  and  much  more, 
for  this  was  the  picture  of  a  living  child. 


DOLLY   IN  A   NEW   PLACE.  213 

They  walked  around  till  they  came  up  to  the  house 
again,  when  Olive  proposed  that  they  should  all  go  in. 
When  they  entered  the  cool  little  parlors,  whose  doors 
had  teen  thrown  wide  open,  the  thick  vines  affording 
such  grateful  shadows  about  the  windows,  they  found  Mrs. 
Bucclebee  sitting  in  an  easy  chair,  apparently  recovering 
from  the  effects  of  her  short  slumber.  Amy  went  directly 
towards  her,  and  offered  her  hand,  hoping  she  was  quite 
well. 

"  Yes,  thank  you,"  said  she,  rather  chillingly,  and  with 
out  rising.  "  Sit  down.  Who've  you  got  there,  Olive, 
with  those  high  pink  bows  on  her  shoulders  ?  I  should 
think  —  well,  I  won't  say" 

Amy  could  not  help  feeling  hurt  at  Mrs.  B.'s  manner, 
and  thought  she  might  have  been  a  little  more  prudent, 
if  not  more  kindly.  Olive's  face  showed  her  perplexity, 
but  she  betrayed  the  feeling  in  no  other  way. 

"  This  is  Amy's  little  friend,  aunt,"  she  explained,  lead 
ing  her  forward  a  trifle.  "  Dolly  Tatterags." 

"  Ah  !  "  exclaimed  her  aunt,  with  a  very  faint  and  some 
what  sarcastic  smile  on  her  face.  "  I  didn't  know  who 
you  might  have  got  there." 

For  a  moment  there  was  nothing  said.     Olive  fjff  cut, 
and  Amy  was  none  too  much  elated  with  the 
Nevertheless,  as  she  caught  the  sympathetic  ari< 
melting  glance  of  Olive's  eye,  she  drove  back  her 
rassment  in  an  instant,  and  spol^e  in  just  the  fr 
independent  strain  of  her  spirit. 


214  AMY   LEE. 

"I  have  interested  myself  a  good  deal  in  the  child, 
ma'am,"  said  she,  firmly  but  touchingly,  "  and  hope  to  do 
a  great  deal  more  for  her.  To-day  I  proposed  to  bring 
her  over  to  Ivy  Lodge,  and  show  her  your  beautiful  gar 
den  and  the  flowers." 

"  Yes ;  very  kind  in  you,  I've  no  doubt,"  said  Mrs. 
Bucclebee. 

"  Her  parents  are  very  destitute,  and  have  a  large  fam 
ily  of  small  children  dependent  on  them,"  added  Amy,  in 
a  voice  that  the  child  could  not  hear.  "  I  took  so  much 
pity  on  her,  poor  thing !  and  saw  that  there  was  a  good 
prospect  of  making  her  a  very  different  child  from  what 
she  otherwise  might  be.  I  have  been  greatly  encouraged, 
thus  far.  Don't  you  think  she  has  an  extremely  pretty 
'ace,  Mrs.  Bucclebee  ?  and  a  pretty  figure,  too  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know ;  she " 

"  But  I  have  found  that  she  has  a  nature  far  more  beau- 
tjiul  than  either,"  interrupted  Amy,  with  some  enthusiasm, 
v  "  Yes,"  half  soliloquized  Mrs.  B.,  patronizingly. 

"  And  that  was  all  /  wanted  to  know,"  continued  Amy. 

As  if  to  break  the  force  of  her  aunt's  iciness,  and  to 
restore  to  Amy  perfect  equanimity  of  feeling  again,  Olive 
led  t}fj.T  little  friend  around  the  rooms,  showing  her  the 
books,,  the  pictures,  and  the  pretty  sea  shells,  talking 
about  this  and  about  that  as  fast  as  she  could,  in  order  to 

take  up  her  entire  attention.     And  after  this  was  over, 

•tf 
they  came  round  again  to  Amy,  not  to  resume  their  seats, 

but* to  start  her  out  into  the  garden  with  them  once  more. 


DOLLY    IN  A   NEW   PLACE.  215 

Oilve  was  impatient  to  breathe  the  out-door  air.  She 
wished  to  break  away  from  the  strange  feeling  of  restraint 
that  held  her  as  in  a  mesh  there  in  the  presence  of  her 
aunt. 

Once  more  they  traversed  the  grounds,  exerting  them 
selves  in  every  ingenious  manner  to  take  up  Dolly's  atten 
tion.  They  went  to  the  summer  house  at  last,  and  there 
passed  the  remainder  of  the  afternoon.  And  to  Dolly  — 
such  an  afternoon ! 

It  passed  away,  however,  very  speedily,  as  all  pleas 
ures  do.  But  its  memories  would  not  be  apt  to  fade  so 
soon.  Amy  knew  that  they  must  at  some  time  go  through 
the  gate  homewards  ;  and  she  was  careful  to  start  season 
ably,  for  her  little  charge  had  a  good  walk  to  take  yet. 

Dolly  held  a  Jjjetty  Jbouquet  when  she  took  her  leave 
of  Olive,  and  said  she  was  going  to  give  it  to  her  mother. 
With  those  beautiful  flowers  in  her  hand,  she  looked  not 
like  the  crying  little  Dolly  Tatterags  Amy  first  saw,  but 
like  another  —  a  bright  and  happy  being. 

Amy  went  with  her  some  way  homewards,  lest  she 
might  want  company.  She  kissed  her  affectionately  at 
parting,  and  told  her  to  be  good  to  her  brothers  and  sis 
ters,  and  teach  them  how  to  love  one  another  and  to  love 
her.  And  as  they  separated  on  that  silent  old  country 
road,  tears  might  have  been  seen  gathering  like  films  in 
their  eyes,  testifying  to  the  new  joy  with  which  their 
hearts  ha«i  that  day  been  baptized. 


CHAPTER    XX. 
THE  SCHOOL  EXAMINATION. 

"  Now,"  said  Mr.  Parsons,  talking  to  the  collected  chil 
dren  in  that  affectionate  way  that  made  him  so  much 
beloved  by  them,  —  "  now  we  are  going  to  see  who  have 
tried  to  do  well  this  summer,  and  how  much  they  have 
learned,  and  if  they  are  all  worthy  of  the  praise  of  their 
friends." 

The  little  flock  looked  round  wisely  at  one  another,  and 
then  exchanged  glances  with  their  teacher.  Her  look 
meant  only  encouragement. 

The  school  room  was  packed  full.  The  mothers, 
especially,  were  all  there,  watching  their  children  anxious 
ly.  Some  of  the  fathers  had  come  in  too,  but  not  many  : 
their  vocation  just  at  this  season  of  the  year  called  them 
off  in  other  and  very  necessary  directions.  They  were 
perfectly  willing  to  confide  in  the  judgment  of  their  wives, 
and  the  latter  were  out  in  full  force  accordingly. 

It  was  quite  a  warm  afternoon,  at  the  very  last  of  sum 
mer.  The  windows  and  doors  were  wide  open,  and  the 
old  oak  floor  of  the  school  room  had  been  plashed  with 
water  to  cool  the  air.  Many  a  little  one  tried  to  sit  up 

(216) 


THE    SCHOOL    EXAMINATION.  217 

straight  on  the  benches,  and  gave  it  up  as  a  present  im 
possibility.  They  were  obliged  to  lean  a  little  on  one 
another,  looking  close  into  each  other's  faces  and  smiling. 

There  they  all  were,  Amy's  whole  school.  Some  of 
them  looked  bright  and  peculiarly  happy,  and  others  tired 
and  peculiarly  sleepy.  Some  had  bits  of  red,  pink,  and 
blue  ribbons  tied  to  the  ends  of  their  braided  hair,  flowing 
down  their  backs  or  sticking  out  at  their  temples.  Some 
wore  their  very  whitest  little  dresses,  and  slippers  laced 
prettily  over  the  instep  and  about  the  ankles.  You  could 
see  that  every  head  had  been  particularly  well  cared  for 
that  day,  in  some  instances  not  even  a  loose  lock  straying 
outward  from  the  general  plaster  and  platitude.  There 
were  little  heads,  too,  of  all  shapes,  sizes,  and  colors.  But 
the  variety  of  faces  produced  the  greatest  interest,  -  even  to 
those  who  very  well  knew  each  face  by  itself.  It  is  that 
chiefly  which  always  attracts  to  such  pleasant  places. 

Amy  brought  them  forward,  class  after  class.  First 
came  the  little  abecedarians.  They  were  funny  little  crea 
tures,  and  made  a  great  deal  of  laughter  by  some  of  their 
ludicrous  mistakes  in  calling  off  the  letters.  And  when 
ever  they  found  the  visitors  laughing,  what  did  they  do 
but  gaze  about  and  laugh  too,  as  if  they  were  enjoying 
themselves  to  the  very  top  of  their  desires  !  These  were 
the  lambs  of  the  flock ;  the  tenderest  ones  of  all.  They 
showed  happy  faces,  and  their  mothers  knew  that  they 
really  loved  their  teacher.  That  was  a  great  deal.  Any 
mother  is  shrewd  enough  to  know  that  the  first  need,  in  a 
19 


218  AMY   LEE. 

child's  heart,  even  before  "  the  letters  "  are  indelibly  im 
printed  in  her  brain,  is  love.  That  is  the  broader,  the 
deeper,  and  the  better  foundation. 

Then  followed  classes  in  reading,  exhibiting  their  pow 
ers  to  the  assembled  visitors  to  the  very  best  advantage. 
They  had  certainly  made  progress  in  these  exercises,  and 
on  behalf  of  the  rest,  Mr.  Parsons  took  occasion  to  ex 
press  his  decided  commendation.  Amy's  heart  was  full, 
for  she  could  read  the  deep,  deep  satisfaction  in  the  faces 
of  the  parents. 

Between  the  various  exercises,  and  at  convenient  inter 
vals,  Amy  introduced  their  singing.  Every  one  was  grati 
fied  with  this.  The  faces  of  all  were  lighted  up  with  still 
greater  pleasure.  They  betrayed  their  appreciative  sym 
pathy  in  every  possible  way.  It  was  easy  to  see  that  this 
was  an  exercise  that  did  not  affect  the  children  alone. 
The  parents,  too,  felt  the  harmony  that  was  begotten  of  it. 

Now  their  united  voices  sounded  loud  and  clear,  so  that 
they  could  be  heard  far  away  from  the  school  house.  Now 
they  sang  softly  and  low,  in  sweet  and  touching  strains, 
keeping  a  perfect  and  delightful  chord.  The  place  seemed 
all  at  once  a  little  heaven.  Here  the  best,  the  purest,  the 
tenderest,  the  most  aspiring  emotions  of  the  heart  were 
suddenly  awakened ;  and  this  little  volume  of  harmony, 
this  delightful  accord  of  the  voices  of  innocent  and  lovely 
children,  was  all  that  had  produced  a  change  so  sudden 
and  wonderful.  O,  blessed  is  song !  Blessed  are  the 
pleasant  voices  of  happy  children  !  Blessed  are  the^Jeai 


THE    SCHOOL    EXAMINATION.  219 

and  heartfelt  strains  that  pass  across  one's  consciousness, 
and  throw  down  into  the  mysterious  deeps  of  the  soul  such 
thrilling,  such  all-searching  echoes,  waking  it  to  a  life  that 
nothing  in  this  world  can  ever  hope  to  satisfy ! 

It  is  enough  to  say  that  these  little  songs  and  hymns, 
that  Amy  had  taught  her  scholars  with  so  much  patience, 
were  well  received  from  beginning  to  end.  Whenever  the 
singing  was  announced,  the  room  was  instantly,  hushed, 
and  every  whisper  died  away.  The  interest  was  general, 
and  the  attention  undivided.  The  parents  wore  the  pleas- 
antest  smiles  on  their  faces,  as  they  watched  the  happy 
enthusiasm  of  their  little  ones,  and  seemed  to  feel  as  if 
they  could  break  in  and  sing  with  them,  with  a  good  relish 
of  enjoyment  indeed. 

Then  the  samples  of  needlework  were  placed  on  exhi 
bition.  Some  were  specimens  of  plain  sewing,  and  all 
very  neatly  done.  Some  were  pieces  of  fine  stitching, 
that  looked  as  if  young  eyes,  however  sharp,  could  never 
find  the  way  along  with  the  thread.  There  were  also  some 
old-fashioned  "  samplers,"  in  red,  and  green,  and  yellow 
cloth,  with  the  letters  of  the  alphabet  and  the  names  of 
the  owners  worked  plainly  and  prettily  on  their  ground. 
These  were  handed  about  with  a  great  deal  of  satisfaction 
among  the  visitors,  and  the  children  to  whom  they  belonged 
watched  each  the  progress  of  her  own  "  sampler  "  from  one 
hand  to  another,  with  anxious  and  eager  eyes. 

And  Amy  had  the  pleasure,  too,  of  submitting  a  very 
few  ^specimens  of  embroidery;  nothing  very  extravagant 


220  AMY   LEE. 

in  point  either  of  workmanship  or  design,  as  she  well 
knew,  but  yet  affording  cheering  evidence  of  the  growing 
taste  and  skill  of  those  in  her  charge.  One  of  these 
specimens  was  an  attempt  to  work  a  face  upon  the  cloth  ; 
and  though  for  a  mere  attempt  it  was  all  no  doubt  well 
enough,  for  &  face  it  was  something  quite  out  of  the  limits 
of  description.  And  besides  this  there  were  roses,  and 
tulips,  and  vines ;  the  former  looking  for  all  the  world  as 
if  they  really  grew  and  blossomed  out  of  the  cloth,  and 
the  latter  as  if  they  were  bent  on  creeping  off  of  it !  Still 
they  were  good,  by  way  of  exhibitions  ;  and  the  commend 
atory  remarks  they  drew  from  the  visitors  were  evidence 
sufficient  of  the  esteem  in  which  the  patient  laborers  were 
held. 

Amy  made  them  read  aloud  in  unison,  to  practise  them 
in  harmony  of  intonation  and  a  quicker  ear  to  detect  dis 
cord.  And  they  recited  the  tables  of  the  arithmetics 
together,  as  is  the  custom  in  almost  all  New  England 
schools  of  that  character.  And  still  "  toeing  the  mark  " 
in  the  old  oaken  floor,  and  with  faces  turned  to  their 
teacher,  they  exhibited  to  the  visitors  the  sense  of  order 
and  precision  they  had  been  taught  to  respect,  in  all  the 
other  exercises  that  were  brought  forward. 

Then  they  were  allowed  an  intermission,  after  a  while, 
during  which  interval  Amy  went  about  among  the  parents, 
chatting  easily  of  one  and  another  pupil,  answering  the 
various  questions  put  her  with  perfect  frankness  and  grace, 
and  in  every  method  possible  testifying  to  the  pleasure  she 


THE   SCHOOL   EXAMINATION.  221 

received  from  their  countenance  and  commendation  that 
day.  All  were  not  of  the  same  degree  of  culture  with 
herself — that  she  well  knew;  but  it  was  this  very  same 
culture  that  led  her  to  make  herself  perfectly  easy  with 
them,  to  meet  them  with  warm  sympathy  on  their  own 
grounds,  and  to  exhibit  to  them  in  the  properest  way,  and 
with  the  greatest  prospect  of  advantage,  the  sweet  nature 
of  her  disposition  and  character. 

Again  came  on  the  classes,  and  finally  a  parting  hymn. 
Then  Mr.  Parsons  rose  and  addressed  the  school,  offer 
ing  them  the  best  advice  he  had  to  give,  complimenting 
them  very  highly  for  their  marked  proficiency,  speaking 
with  much  satisfaction  of  their  affection  for  their  teacher, 
hoping  that  they  might  not  lose  her  yet,  but  prevail  oil 
her  to  remain  with  them  longer,  and  closing  by  wishing 
them  every  one  a  happy  vacation. 

And  after  a  prayer,  Amy  thanked  the  parents  present 
for  their  attendance,  and  dismissed  the  school. 

It  was  truly  delightful  to  see  the  sorry  eagerness  with 
which  the  little  ones  crowded  around  their  teacher  to  wish 
her  "  good  by,"  and  to  get  one  more  kind  word  from  her 
lips  before  they  separated ;  and  Mr.  Parsons  lingered  a 
little  to  enjoy  the  sight.  Some  of  them  were  a  little  more 
timid  about  it  than  the  others,  but  Amy  stooped  down  and 
kissed  them  all,  and  bade  them  always  be  good  children, 
whether  they  came  to  school  to  her  again  or  not.  And 
when  they  had  taken  their  leave,  scholars  and  parents,  she 
stood  in  the  middle  of  the  deserted  school  room,  looked 
19* 


222  AMY   LEE. 

around  her  thoughtfully,  and  for  a  moment  felt  that  she  was 
alone.  In  that  single  moment  it  seemed  to  her  again  that 
there  was  nothing  between  herself  and  the  world.  She 
had  this  afternoon  finished  her  summer  school,  her  pupils 
had  every  one  taken  their  leave,  the  busy  old  school  room 
was  silent,  the  benches  were  all  empty,  and  now  a  future 
once  more  burst  upon  her  vision.  Hitherto,  at  least  since 
her  arrival  in  Valley  Village,  she  had  been  living  only  in 
the  immediate  and  busy  present.  Up  to  this  time  the 
feeling  had  strictly  been  "  sufficient  unto  the  day."  But 
now  there  occurred  a  gap.  There  was  an  opening  in  her 
prospects.  She  had  room  to  discuss  probabilities  and  pos 
sibilities.  She  questioned,  and  queried,  and  weighed,  and 
wondered.  And  with  all  this  her  heart  could  hardly  be 
said  to  know  the  freedom  from  doubt  and  anxiety  it  had 
enjoyed  through  the  summer.  Still  there  was  no  such 
feeling  as  fear,  and  no  such  disposition  as  that  of  complaint. 
Girl  though  she  was,  and  in  one  sad  sense  solitary  and 
alone  in  the  world,  Amy  never  allowed  herself  for  a  mo 
ment  to  doubt  the.  power  of  the  good  Father  to  provide 
for  her,  and  would  have  repined  at  no  lot  to  which  she 
might  have  been  directed.  With  her  the  wealth  was  not 
from  without,  but  entirely  from  within.  Such  a  trifle  as 
circumstance,  or  position,  or  personal  comfort,  never 
troubled  her  thoughts.  Where  she  was,  where  her  soul 
exhibited  itself  at  work  and  at  its  enjoyment,  there  was 
her  life.  She  existed  at  the  centre,  rather  than  at  the 
circumference. 


THE    SCHOOL    EXAMINATION.  223 

For  two  weeks  —  the  last  weeks  of  August  —  she  re 
mained  in  the  village,  making  calls  around  on  her  patrons, 
collecting  her  school  bills,  rambling  about  wherever  the 
fancy  led  her,  and  enjoying  herself  with  her  more  intimate 
friends.  She  made  a  visit  of  a  few  days  at  Olive's  house, 
and  felt  while  there  as  if  she  never  wanted  to  come  away 
again.  She  did  not  forget  the  Tatterag  family,  either,  but 
went  to  see  them,  often  in  their  perch  on  the  mountain, 
encouraging  the  faint-hearted  mother,  and  trying  to  open 
to  her  thoughts  larger  sources  of  enjoyment  than  had  yet 
entered  her  mind.  Dolly  used  to  come  to  see  her,  too,  at 
Mrs.  Gummers,  and  went  on  with  her  lessons  while  there, 
reading  and  spelling  to  Amy  in  her  chamber.  She  grew 
in  beauty  every  day.  Amy's  conversation  with  her  was  a 
means  of  refinement,  and  from  it  she  gathered  many  and 
many  a  sweet  and  spiritual  lesson. 

And  so  the  time  passed.  Amy  was  always  up  early  in 
the  morning,  and  as  soon  as  the  sunrise  bell  rang  in  the 
church  belfry,  she  issued  forth  on  her  usual  walk  towards 
her  favorite  old  bridge.  She  wrote  much  in  her  journal, 
and  filled  its  pages  with  her  happy  experiences.  And  she 
went  frequently  to  Mr.  Parsons's  house,  and  with  her 
good  friends  there  she  discussed  her  prospects  for  the  im 
mediate  future. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

DEATH  AT  THE  DOOR. 

AFTER  much  consideration  of  the  subject,  the  leading 
persons  of  the  village  concluded,  principally  at  Mr.  Par- 
sons's  personal  instigation,  to  offer  employment  to  Amy 
as  a  teacher  until  the  ensuing  spring.  They  admitted 
that  she  had  taught  an  excellent  school  during  the  past 
season  ;  and  the  glowing  reports  of  her  little  examination 
were  every  where  acceptably  received.  Accordingly,  she 
was  one  day  waited  on  by  the  proper  committee,  all  in 
regular  form  and  with  not  a  little  ceremony,  who  made 
her  the  necessary  proposals.  Mr.  Parsons  was  one  of  the 
committee,  and  of  course  its  spokesman.  He  offered  Amy 
a  guaranty  of  a  certain  amount  of  money,  provided  she 
would  consent  to  stay  till  the  spring,  and  as  full  and 
pleasant  a  school  as  could  be  collected  for  her.  As  it 
happened,  too,  —  and  all  the  more  pleasantly  for  Amy,  no 
doubt,  —  there  were  none  but  quite  small  scholars  in  the 
village  to  be  sent ;  and  this  fact  might  have  helped  influ 
ence  her  favorably  towards  the  proposal. 

At  all  events,  she  thought  over  the  matter  a  few  days, 
and  finally  sent  word  to  the  committee  that  she  was  ready 

(224) 


DEATH   AT    THE    DOOB.  225 

to  accept  their  offer.  Mr.  Parsons  interested  iimself 
enough  more  to  see  that  the  school  room  was  made  as 
comfortable  as  possible  for  the  winter ;  the  gaping  cracks 
about  the  floor,  the  door,  and  the  windows  were  all  prop 
erly  closed,  and  an  abundant  wood  pile  was  stored  where 
it  could  be  got  at  without  either  exposure  or  difficulty. 
The  bargain  was  fully  concluded,  and  Amy  set  about  her 
few  preparations  accordingly. 

Early  in  September,  therefore,  she  commenced  her  fall 
term.  She  was  gratified  to  find  all  her  old  scholars  back 
again,  and  a  few  new  ones  besides.  Among  the  latter  was 
young  Henry  Gummel.  The  girls  laughed  a  little  at  him 
and  with  one  another  when  they  saw  him  come  in,  for  he 
was  the  largest  and  oldest  boy  that  Amy  had ;  he  knew 
enough,  however,  to  let  them  laugh  on  as  long  as  they 
enjoyed  it,  for  there  was  no  question  but  they  would  be 
glad  of  his  company  before  the  term  was  over. 

Before  the  term  was  over!  Alas!  before  it  was  yet 
half  gone,  he  was  laid  on  a  sick  bed,  and  forbidden  to 
enter  into  the  little  circle  that  loved  him  so  well. 

About  the  first  of  October  he  was  taken  down  by  fever. 
The  attack  was  insidious,  as  such  attacks  always  are,  and 
excited  little  alarm  till  it  had  gained  an  entrance  into 
life's  citadel. 

Mrs.  Gummel' s  heart  was  truly  afflicted.  This  child 
was  her  all,  and  her  only  stay.  For  him  she  seemed  to 
live,  to  labor,  to  hope.  In  his  little  life,  just  now  begin 
ning  to  open  itself  in  such  beautiful  proportions,  she  saw 
the  entire  unfolding  of  her  fondest  desires. 


226  AMY    LEE. 

For  several  days  his  disease  kept  working  its  way 
silently  —  silently,  there  in  the  mysterious  stillness  and 
shadow  of  that  sick  chamber,  pursuing  its  course  un 
checked  by  the  skill  of  medical  help,  rioting  by  itself  in 
the  freshness  and  vigor  of  his  youthful  blood,  and  burning 
its  path  onward  to  his  brain.  Day  by  day  its  hold  on  his 
system  grew  stronger  and  stronger.  It  went  down  beneath 
the  surface,  and  held  its  revels  at  the  very  portal  of  his 
heart's  life.  It  scorched  its  way  along  his  veins,  burning 
him  up  as  with  torturing  fires. 

Now  he  was  flushed  and  heated,  the  colors  mounting  to 
his  cheeks  and  temples,  and  his  skin  ieeling  fearfully  hot 
to  the  hand.  Now  he  was  cold,  and  without  apparent 
life,  seeming  scarcely  to  breathe  at  all.  He  was  no  longer 
in  possession  of  his  senses,  but  his  eyes  would  wander  idly 
and  inexpressibly  all  the  day  long.  He  took  hardly  any 
nourishment,  and  that  was  such  as  was  administered  in 
the  most  trifling  quantities,  that  would  not  seem  indeed 
to  be  of  any  service. 

The  little  school  was  sad  enough  when  it  first  heard  of 
Henry's  sickness ;  and  the  scholars  gathered  in  groups, 
talking  about  it  in  hushed  voices  and  in  whispers  of  child 
ish  fear.  From  the  place  of  delight  the  school  room  had 
till  that  day  been,  it  became  suddenly  the  most  gloomy 
spot  to  which  the  children  looked  forward  in  their 
thoughts.  Every  morning  they  would  gather  around  Amy 
with  looks  of  the  deepest  anxiety,  and  inquire  how  Henry 
was,  and  if  he  was  any  better,  and  if  she  thought  he  was 


DEATH   AT    THE    DOOR.  227 

going  to  get  well ;  and  one  little  girl,  after  the  rest  had 
got  through  with  their  questions,  stepped  quietly  to  the 
lap  of  Amy,  and  asked,  with  tears  standing  in  her  eyes, 
"  Will  he  die,  Miss  Lee  ?  "  Amy  drew  the  child  to  her 
bosom,  and  whispered  affectionately  to  her  as  she  leaned 
forward,  "  My  child,  God  knows  what  is  best ;  we  must 
not  complain  even  if  he  takes  little  Henry  away." 

Dr.  Sillby  was  attentive,  and  exerted  himself  to  the 
extent  of  his  skill.  He  felt  more  than  a  merely  profes 
sional  interest  in  this  case  ;  for,  like  the  rest,  he  really 
loved  the  boy,  and  esteemed  him  for  his  many  virtues. 
He  went  constantly  to  the  house  ;  and  whenever  he  met 
Amy  either  going  to  or  returning  from  school,  he  stopped 
to  ask  about  his  very  latest  symptoms.  Yet  Dr.  Sillby 
could  not  do  more  than  any  other  mere  man.  He  could 
not  work  miracles,  although  his  heart  might  secretly  wish 
that  such  a  gift  were  in  this  present  case  his.  He  might 
tax  his  skill  to  the  utmost,  and  his  heart  might  bleed  for 
the  agonies  of  others ;  but  there  the  human  work  was 
obliged  to  stop.  The  rest  must  be  left  without  a  murmur, 
or  even  an  inquiry,  to  God. 

The  neighbors  throughout  the  village  were  exceedingly 
kind,  as  they  always  are  in  such  cases  of  serious  sickness. 
They  sent  in  continually  to  be  advised  of  the  slightest 
change.  They  offered  their  sympathies  at  every  turn. 
They  came  in  every  day,  bringing  of  their  own  provisions 
to  Mrs.  Gummel,  that  she  might  have  every  needed  mo 
ment  with  Henry.  And  then  they  were  all  so  ready  to 


228  AMY   LEE. 

watch  with  him  during  the  night,  or  during  the  day  to 
assist  his  mother  about  her  accumulating  labors.  She 
had  but  to  utter  a  wish  ;  and  if  it  was  Avithin  the  power 
of  her  neighbors  and  friends,  it  was  gratified.  "  How  dif 
ferent,"  thought  Amy,  "from  the  customs  of  the  city, 
where  the  sick  seem  rather  to  take  care  of  themselves,  or, 
if  they  have  a  physician,  have  scarcely  any  one  else  ! " 
This  certainly  was  the  better  way,  for  it  bespoke  human 
sympathy,  and  recognized  the  most  precious  feelings  of 
the  human  heart. 

And  every  night,  till  at  least  midnight,  did  Amy  her 
self  sit  and  watch  by  that  bedside.  She  counted  the  quick 
breathings  of  the  sick  boy  almost  as  closely  as  if  she  had 
been  his  sister  or  his  mother.  She  knew  all  the  names 
of  the  many  mixtures  that  were  crowded  so  thickly  on 
the  little  stand,  and  could  tell  exactly  when  the  proper 
time  came  for  the  administration  of  each.  So  long  had 
she  been  with  him,  and  so  patiently  had  she  sat  out  the 
lengthening  hours,  that  she  was  as  familiar  with  the  para 
phernalia  of  the  apartment  as  the  boy's  own  mother. 

Often  she  sat  alone  with  him  for  half  the  night,  and 
after  that  gave  up  the  responsibility  to  some  one  else.  In 
those  silent  night  watches  of  the  autumn,  with  the  hoarse 
cry  of  the  katydids  in  the  maple  trees  along  the  village 
street,  and  the  fading  rim  of  the  old  moon  going  out  of 
sight  behind  the  leaves,  her  thoughts  led  her  back  to  those 
other  days  when  she  had  a  dear  charge  of  her  own  to 
keep,  and  felt  that' a  single  breath  might  at  any  moment 


DEATH    AT    THE    DOOR.  229 

blow  her  happiness  all  away.  She  listened  sadly  to  the 
ticking  of  the  little  clock  on  the  mantel,  wondering  if  its 
turning  hands  would  bring  life  or  death.  She  could  hear 
the  beating  of  her  own  heart  in  the  midnight  silence.  She 
caught  the  breathing  of  the  sick  boy.  And  all  three 
sounds,  each  in  its  own  mysterious  way,  kept  telling  her, 
as  no  other  voices  could  have  done,  "  Passing  away  !  pass 
ing  away  !  "  And  then  would  immediately  follow  her  own 
bounding  thought,  "  If  life  goes  so  soon,  there  is  no  time 
to  be  lost  in  complaint  or  morbid  fear ;  what  we  do,  we 
must  do  quickly ;  the  few  advantages  we  have  are  to  be 
improved  now ;  life  is  only  one  continual  NOW  ;  there  is 
no  future,  for  we  know  nothing  but  a  perpetual  present ; 
therefore  ought  this  present  to  be  enlarged  to  the  very 
heavens  with  our  prayers,  our  efforts,  and  our  aspirations. 

After  supper  one  afternoon,  Mrs.  Gummel,  who  had 
been  extremely  silent  and  sad  for  the  past  day  or  two, 
began  to  talk  with  Amy  quite  seriously  about  the  issue 
that  now  threatened. 

"  I'm  afraid  —  I'm  afraid,"  said  she,  slowly  shaking  her 
head,  and  pulling  at  a  corner  of  the  table  cloth.  "  Dr. 
Sillby  doesn't  seem  to  hold  out  any  hope.  What  shall  I 
do  ?  How  can  I  bear  it  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Gummel,"  calmly  returned  Amy,  "  you  ought  not 
to  allow  yourself  to  feel  at  all  anxious  or  unquiet.  I  know 
you  love  Henry  as  none  but  a  mother  can  love  a  child." 
Here  Mrs.  Gummel  wept.  "  But  even  if  what  we  call  the 
ivorst  comes,  are  you  not  ready  from  your  heart  to  think  it 
20 


230  JLMY    LEE. 

is  the  lest  1  Cannot  you  look  up  to  Heaven,  and  say  in 
all  the  humility  of  a  true  faith,  *  Thy  will  be  done  on  earth 
as  it  is  done  in  heaven '  ?  " 

"  O,  but  a  mother's  own  child  !  my  only,  darling  boy ! 
the  hope  of  my  age  —  the  delight  of  my  life  every  day  ! 
O,  it  is  too  hard  —  too  hard."  And  she  continued  weeping 
profusely. 

"  But  is  not  your  faith  greater  than  this,  my  dear  Mrs. 
Gummel  ?  Look  up,  —  O,  look  up,  —  and  see  the  face 
of  the  Lord  smiling  on  you  forever  !  Has  he  not  given  t 
And  will  you  think  of  murmuring  because  in  his  fatherly 
wisdom  he  sees  fit  to  take  away  ?  O,  I  know  myself  too 
well — indeed,  I  know  much  too  well  —  how  these  sepa 
rations  tear  asunder  the  tenderest  ties  of  the  heart,  and 
threaten  almost  to 'crush  the  very  life  itself;  but  nothing 
comes,  dear  Mrs.  Gummel,  but  for  good.  Think  of  that, 
and  never  forget  to  think  of  it.  Keep  it  always  in  mind 
that  God  is  the  Father.  We  cannot  help  ourselves  at  all ; 
and  shall  we  refuse  to  trust  him?  Is  not  that  just  what 
he  calls  on  us  to  do,  every  time  he  takes  away  one  of  our 
earthly  idols  —  to  trust  more  completely  in  him,  be  one 
with  him,  love  only  him,  live  to  him  ?  Is  not  that  the 
meaning  of  all  these  trials,  dear  Mrs.  Gummel  ? " 

"  O,  I  know  that  what  you  say  is  all  true,  Miss  Lee,  — 
all  true.  But  my  child  —  my  dear  child  !  Must  he  die  ? 
Can  I  give  him  up  ?  Must  I  go  through  life  alone  ? " 

"  Think,"  answered  Amy,  in  a  voice  of  love  and  ten 
derness  that  was  peace  itself  to  the  heait  of  the  afflicted 


DEATH  AT  THE  DOOR.  231 

mother,  — "  think  what  God  has  done  for  you  already, 
Mrs.  Gummel.  He  has  enriched  your  life  by  giving  you 
this  dear  child.  It  was  he  who  gave ;  and  if  he  now 
takes  away,  have  you  not  the  true  trust  of  a  child  to  say, 
'  Blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord '  ?  O,  do  but  be  calm. 
Do  not  look  only  at  this  earthly,  this  narrow  condition. 
This  is  not  the  whole  of  life.  Can  you  not  feel  that 
there  is  a  glorious  life  beyond,  in  that  exalted  resurrection 
state  where  we  shall  have  spiritual  bodies,  and  be  free 
forever  from  the  dead  and  dreary  weights  of  tljese  earthly 
bodies?  Do  not  forget  for  one  moment,  my  dear  Mrs. 
Gummel,  that  God  is  entirely  good.  We  could  not  love 
him  unless  we  believed  that.  He  it  is  who  cares  for  us 
every  moment ;  who  surrounds  each  one  of  us  with  the 
circumstances  that  make  our  life  and  call  out  our  souls' 
faculties  ;  who  keeps  us  by  day  and  by  night  in  the  hollow 
of  his  hand.  You 'have  trusted  him  so  far,  and  that  trust 
has  been  the  only  source  of  your  happiness ;  can  you  not 
trust  him  to  the  end  ?  Is  he  not  as  good  now  as  he  ever 
has  been  ?  Has  he  ever  failed  you  when  your  soul  went 
out  to  him  in  humility  and  love  ?  And  do  you  think,  dear 
Mrs.  Gummel,  that  because  he  calls  away  your  boy  to  a 
better  land,  he  has  turned  his  face  from  you  entirely,  and 
loves  you  no  longer  ?  If  this  is  to  be  your  chastening, 
do  you  not  believe  that  *  he  loveth  whom  he  chasteneth'  ? " 
The  woman  was  dumb.  Her  tears  ceased  to  flow.  Her 
breast  no  longer  was  convulsed  with  sobbing.  She  sat 
calmly  and  reflected.  It  was  even  as  Amy  had  told  her ; 


232  AMY   LEE. 

there  was  no  room  for  dodging,  or  fleeing,  or  deceit ;  if 
God  chose  at  this  time  to  take  the  boy,  it  certainly  was 
because  he  loved  both  the  child  and  his  mother.  Look  at 
it  as  she  would,  it  could  be  no  otherwise. 

And  Amy  was  the  reconciler,  the  immediate  comforter. 
She  was  the  human  means  of  leading  back  this  unquiet 
and  almost  rebellious  heart  to  the  love  of  its  God.  Could 
Mrs.  Gummel  have  thought  that  so  it  was  to  be  when  she 
first  saw  Amy,  a  stranger,  getting  into  the  stage  coach, 
and  when  she  moved  to  make  room  for  her  at  her  side  ! 
Ah  !  so  very  strange  are  human  events  —  so  mysteriously 
arranged  —  yet  ever  so  perfectly  developed  among  the 
maze  of  circumstances,  and  the  blessed  meaning  of  their 
lessons  so  surely  brought  at  last  to  the  open  light. 

Mrs.  Gummel's  heart  was  more  at  rest.  There  was  but 
one  place  where  she  could  hope  to  find  peace,  and  that 
was  in  God.  To  him,  therefore,  she  went,  and  implored 
him,  as  a  good  Father,  not  to  save  the  life  of  her  boy,  not 
to  give  her  any  temporal  comforts,  any  mere  phj  sical  ben 
efits,  but  to  fill  her  soul  to  overflowing  with  faith,  that 
under  any  circumstance,  and  all  circumstances,  she  might 
rely  in  peace  on  the  promises  that  are  everlasting. 

The  very  next  afternoon  Amy  dismissed  her  school 
somewhat  earlier  than  was  customary,  and  hastened  home 
to  Mrs.  Gummel  again.  She  felt  a  little  anxious,  not  yet 
fully  confident  of  the  poor  woman's  strength  of  spirit. 
Ihe  children  all  went  home  in  different  ways,  careful  to 
make  no  noise  along  the  street]  for  she  had  told  them 


DEATH   AT   THE   DOOR.  233 

how  low  Henry  was,  and  begged  them  to  do  nothing  going 
home  that  would  disturb  him. 

As  she  walked  homewards  she  was  sensible  of  the 
silence  that  reigned  every  where.  There  was  no  air  stir 
ring  among  the  gayly-attired  trees,  no  singing  of  birds,  no 
chirp  of  the  insects.  The  doors  of  all  the  dwellings  were 
shut,  and  the  yards  as  still  as  if  the.  indwellers  had  left 
the  town.  So  quiet  a  picture  half  startled  her. 

She  reached  the  door  of  Mrs.  Gummel's  house,  and 
found  it  ajar.  As  she  cautiously  pushed  it  farther  back, 
she  saw  that  the  rooms  were  filled  with  persons,  and  that 
all  were  in  tears.  She  caught  also  stifled  and  half-sup 
pressed  sobs,  as  of  mothers  trying  to  choke  down  their 
grief,  or  of  young  girls  whose  sympathies  were  too  deep 
for  control. 

At  once  laying  aside  her  things,  she  passed  by  them  all, 
and  hurried  to  the  sick  chamber.  The  door  was  shut; 
but  she  caught  the  low  sound  of  prayer  within.  She 
softly  opened  it,  and  entered. 

There  lay  little  Henry  on  the  bed,  motionless  and  still. 
His  happy  spirit  on  that  pleasant  afternoon  had  departed. 
Both  his  mother  and  Mr.  Parsons  were  kneeling  at  the 
bedside,  and  the  latter  was  offering  prayer.  Amy  imme 
diately  dropped  on  her  knees  by  the  side,  of  the  bereaved 
mother,  and,  winding  her  arm  affectionately  about  her 
waist,  joined  them  in  their  strain  of  supplication  at  the 
throne. 

"  O  thou  great  ani  good  Father !  May  thy  kingdom 
20* 


234  AMY    LEE. 

come,  and  thy  will  be  done  on  earth  as  it  is  done  i*i 
heaven.  Draw  us  closer  and  closer  to  thee,  and  give  us 
the  faith  of  truly  innocent  and  trustful  children.  Lift  us 
up  continually,  that  on  earth  we  may  daily  behold  thee. 
Give  us  pure  hearts,  that  we  may  see  thee  always.  O, 
thine  be  the  kingdom,  and  the  power,  and  the  glory,  for 
ever  and  ever.  Amen." 

Amy  looked  in  Mrs.  Gummel's  face  as  they  rose  again, 
and  kissed  her.  That  moment  their  hearts  were  knit 
indissolubly.  The  mother  stood  and  looked  at  the  pas 
sionless  face  of  her  child,  placed  her  palm  upon  his  mar 
ble  forehead,  toyed  with  his  thin  hair,  and  now  and  then 
drew  deep,  deep  sighs,  that  spoke  of  the  anguish  through 
which  she  had  been  called  to  pass.  But  all  the  time  she 
remained  calm ;  she  uttered  not  a  complaint  or  a  murmur ; 
she  felt  it  was  God's  doing,  and  he  knew  what  was  best. 

On  Sunday  came  the  burial.  The  ceremonies  were  ob 
served  at  the  church,  calling  many  people  together.  The 
funeral  discourse  was  an  exceedingly  appropriate  and  hap 
py  production,  and  abounded  with  the  comforting  thoughts 
that  bring  such  sweet  peace  and  such  placid  joy.  There 
were  few  present  who  were  not  affected  with  the  exercises 
of  that  quiet  afternoon. 

All  the  scholars  followed  the  little  coffin  to  the  grare 
with  sad  faces  and  eyes  full  of  tears.  This  was  a  great 
sorrow  for  them  ;  but  from  these  crushed  blossoms  would 
be  distilled  a  rich  and  abounding  fragrance.  Even  chil 
dren  have  need  of  this  sad  discipline ;  and  never,  never 


DEATH   AT    THE    DOOE.  235 

should  it  be  suffered  to  lodge  itself  in  their  souls,  except 
with  such  other  feelings  as  those  of  faith,  and  love,  and 
humility.  Far  off  be  the  unhealthy  influence  that  brings 
to  the  young  heart  nothing  but  quaking  and  trembling 
fear  ! 

So  Mrs.  Gummel  was  alone  in  the  world.  But  no  ;  she 
was  now  many  times  more  surrounded  with  friends  than 
before.  Every  hour  her  thoughts  dwelt  with  those  who 
had  gone  before,  and  day  and  night  they  blessed  her  spirit 
with  their  angel  presence. 

And  thus  this  great  grief  became  an  exalted  and  a  meas 
ureless  joy. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 
AMY  AT  THE  PARSONAGE. 

Mus.  PARSONS  and  she  were  alone  in  the  room,  eaca 
sitting  at  a  corner  of  the  hearth.  The  fire  was  blazing 
brightly,  for  it  was  a  chilly  autumn  day,  and  quite  late  in 
the  season.  Looking  out  the  window,  Amy  saw  that  the 
leaves  were  gone,  and  the  trees  were  standing  stripped  and 
bare,  and  looking  as  if  ready  to  shiver  in  the  blasts  that 
threatened. 

"  Do  you  think  Mrs.  Gummel  is  entirely  reconciled  to 
her  loss  ?  "  asked  the  minister's  wife,  rocking  gently  to 
and  fro  in  her  chair,  and  changing  her  knitting  needle. 

"  Yes,"  said  Amy,  drawing  out  her  thread  and  looking 
contemplatively  into  the  fire,  "  I  think  she  is.  Such 
cheerfulness  as  hers  is  can  certainly  come  only  from  a 
heart  that  is  altogether  at  peace." 

"  It  was  a  great  affliction,  at  least  as  people  usually  re- 
ganj  such  things,"  added  Mrs.  Parsons.  "  Many  could 
not  have  kept  up  under  it.  They  would  have  complained 
to  Heaven,  that  it  was  really  more  than  they  could  bear. 
But  I  do  not  think  it  is  so  with  Mrs.  Gummel.  She 
to  me  to  be  resigned." 

(236) 


AMY  AT   THE   PARSONAGE.  237 

"  Yes,  she  is  resigned.  I  think  she  would  be  resigned 
now  to  any  thing." 

"  That  is*  the  happiest  state  of  the  heart,"  said  Mrs. 
Parsons,  looking  expressively  over  at  Amy.  "  Can  you 
conceive  any  condition  more  blessed  ?  " 

"  O,  no  ;  especially  if  it  is  the  true  resignation.  That 
will  always  bring  more  abundant  peace  than  it  can  ever 
take  away." 

"  Then  you  think  there  is  more  than  one  kind  of  resig 
nation  ?  " 

"  But  one  true  and  real  resignation,"  answered  Amy, 
"  and  that  is  to  be  perfectly  at  one  with  God  ;  no  less  in 
one  thing  than  another ;  in  great  as  well  as  small." 

"  Yet  how  can  you  conceive  of  a  state  in  which  the 
spirit  that  is  resigned  is  really  less  so  than  in  this  you 
have  described  ?  " 

"  Literally  I  cannot ;  yet  some  persons,  you  know, 
suifer  their  feelings  merely  to  relapse  into  a  morbid  and 
Bullen  condition,  as  if  God  might  be  a  tyrant  as  well  as  a 
Father,  and  say  they  are  willing  that  he  should  do  exactly 
as  he  chooses ;  not  simply  because,  like  little  children, 
they  love  him,  but  because  they  think  they  are  quite  in  his 
power,  and  so  feel  the  folly  of  making  complaint." 

"  There  are  such  persons,"  said  Mrs.  Parsons,  with  some 
emphasis.  "  There  is  certainly  just  such  a  sort  of  resig 
nation  as  this  in  the  world." 

"  But  it  is  a  falsehood,  the  whole  of  it !  Do  you  not 
think  so,  Mrs.  Parsons  ?  " 


238  AMY   LEE. 

"  I  do  ;  I  certainly  do." 

"  The  obedience  that  comes  by  fear  I  cannot  conceive 
to  be  obedience,"  added  Amy,  her  soul  catching  a  glow 
from  her  subject.  "  The  true  obedience,  and  that  which 
brings  this  resigned  state  of  feeling  under  all  circumstances 
and  on  all  occasions,  in  life  or  in  death,  in  sunshine  or 
cloud,  among  friends  or  among,  fearful  perils,  in  riches  or 
in  poverty,  with  kind  hearts  all  about  us  or  in  the  midst  of 
malicious  and  designing  enemies  —  that  kind  of  obedience 
can  come  only  by  faith " 

"  Yes,  yes,  Amy ;  that  is  true  enough." 

"  By  a  faith  that  keeps  itself  alive  by  feeding  on  the 
very  substance  hoped  for,  yet  now  in  one  sense  unseen ; 
not  a  faith  that  drives  one  to  the  ends  of  the  created  uni 
verse  with  fear,  but  that  draws  continually  nearer  and 
nearer  by  the  strong  cords  of  love  —  the  perfect  love  that 
casteth  out  fear  —  the  love  that  swells  in  our  hearts  because 
we  know  that  He  first  loved  MS  /  Such  is  the  faith  that 
seems  to  me  to  work  obedience,  and  works  besides  all  its 
manifold  ,and  blessed  fruits.  It  grows  greater  by  the  steady 
contemplation  of  the  God  who  has  given  it  to  us  to  enjoy. 
It  takes  in  all  conditions,  all  classes,  all  circumstances.  It 
enfolds  the  soul  in  a  garment  of  its  own,  so  that  it  walks 
through  the  world-spotless  and  holy.  It  makes  us  chil 
dren,  and  full  of  humility ;  and  at  the  same  time  it  en 
larges  us,  expands  us,  and  prompts  us  all  the  time  to 
aspire,  till  wre  see  that  only  by  obedience,  and  only  by 
perfect  and  willing  resignation,  can  we  find  the  true  centre 
of  oiir  being." 


AMY   AT    THE    PARSONAGE.  239 

"  How  true  it  all  is,  Amy !  I  declare,  I  long  for  an 
experience  such  as  yours  is !  " 

"Mine,  Mrs.  Parsons?  It  is  not  much,  yet  it  makes 
me  grateful.  I  am  grateful  for  every  thing.  I  mean  to 
consider  nothing  as  sorrow;  there  are  no  sorrows;  they 
exist  only  in  the  diseased  imaginations  of  men,  and  spring 
out  of  their  selfishness,  and  impatience,  and  puny  ambition, 
and  perpetual  querulousness.  If  we  would  but  cast  be 
hind  us  this  ambition,  Mrs.  Parsons  —  put  it  entirely 
beneath  our  feet,  mock  at  it,  despise  it  as  not  at  all 
worthy  to  associate  with  our  lofty  capacities  —  if  we  would 
but  do  this,  and  let  our  ambition  become  a  noble  and  a 
spiritual  aspiration,  how  different  the  result  to  all  of  us  !  " 

"  But  men  will  trust  themselves,  before  they  trust  any 
one  else,"  said  Mrs.  Parsons.  "  They  are  so  choked  with 
their  prejudices,  so  blinded  by  their  passions,  so  eaten  up 
with  selfishness  and  avarice,  that  it  seems  almost  a  miracle 
to  me  how  grace  abounds  as  it  does.  It  is  wonderful !  " 

"  First,  however,  should  not  men  be  brought  to  form 
the  right  conception  of  God's  character  ?  Does  not  that 
seem  to  be  the  corner  stone  of  all  true  faith  ?  " 

"  Assuredly ;  else  we  worship  blindly,  and  are  but  little 
better  off  spiritually  than  if  we  fell  down  before  our  own 
idols." 

"  How  true  that  is  !  Idols,  indeed  !  There  is  where 
we  are  still  at  fault.  The  world  is  as  full  of  idols  to-day 
as  it  ever  was  during  its  long  history.  They  may  not  all 
be  of  wood,  or  of  brass,  of  hay  or  stubble ;  yet  there  are 


240  AMY    LEE. 

idols  enthroned  within  the  secret  temple  of  almost  every 
heart." 

"  Few  live  that  can  deny  it,"  said  Amy's  friend. 

"  The  whole  object  of  God's  care  and  kindness,"  con 
tinued  Amy,  "  of  his  providence  and  discipline,  is  to  draw 
us  away  from  the  follies  with  which  we  are  surrounded,  to 
the  true  worship  of  him.  In  that  worship  is  happiness. 
It  is  the  only  thing  that  can  satisfy  for  one  moment  the 
cravings  of  the  unquiet  spirit,  and  it  is  abundant  enough 
to  satisfy  those  inward  desires  forever.  Then  how  neces 
sary  that  we  get  a  true  conception  of  the  character  of  our 
Father  from  the  first !  —  such  thoughts  of  him  as  will 
throw  our  spirits,  so  to  speak,  into  an  attitude  of  worship, 
of  gratitude  and  thanksgiving,  the  instant  our  conscious 
ness  takes  hold  upon  him  !  Unless  we  understand  what 
we  are  to  believe,  I  do  not  see  how  true  and  joyful  believers 
can  ever  be  expected  to  abound." 

"  That  is  certainly  the  important  step  in  our  spiritual 
culture,  Amy.  '  God  is  love  ! '  Do  you  think  of  that 
often  ?  " 

"  I  think  of  that  all  the  time,  Mrs.  Parsons  !  I  feel  at 
my  heart  that  this  it  is  that  so  draws  me  to  him  !  —  that 
feeds  my  poor  faith  so  constantly  !  —  that  lets  into  my 
soul,  every  day  I  live,  such  views  as  cannot  be  spoken  by 
lips,  nor  written  for  the  eyes !  —  that  raises  emotions  within 
me  such  as  no  description  can  hope  to  answer  to,  and  no 
other  soul  can  understand  except  by  its  own  jubilant  ex 
periences  !  O,  God  is  love  —  LOYE  indeed ! " 


AMY    AT    THE    PARSONAGE.  241 

"  If  the  world  would  but  think  so  ! "  continued  Mrs. 
Parsons  —  "  if  the  world  would  only  believe  this  !  Then 
what  would  take  the  place  of  murmurings  and  complain 
ings  but  joy  and  ineffable  thanksgiving  ?  What  would 
abound  where  distrust,  and  selfishness,  and  fear  now  so 
much  abound,  but  obedience,  and  trust,  and  a  perfect  faith  ? 
It  is  so  necessary  that  we  first  get  a  right  idoa  of  the 
character  of  God,  and  thus  of  the  nature  of  our  relations 
to  him  !  " 

"  There  are  few  trials,  I  think,"  said  Amy,  "  that  one 
is  called  to  go  through  in  this  life,  more  severe  and  search 
ing  to  the  human  spirit  than  this  losing  of  friends.  It 
does  seem  to  me  that  if  the  heart  is  really  whole,  and 
sweet,  and  at  peace,  this  is  the  time  when  it  will  all  appear." 
"  Certainly ;  it  must  be  so.  For  in  so  great  a  mystery 
as  death  we  seem  plunged  in  a  vast  abyss  :  if  our  faith 
only  lights  it  up  for  us  with  the  colors  of  trustfulness  and 
love,  we  may  be  altogether  happy  even  then,  and  think 
of  our  friends  as  having  gone  to  the  better  land  only  a 
little  while  before  us  ;  otherwise  this  is  a  very  dark  abyss, 
full  of  gloom  and  sorrow.  It  is  only  this  lack  of  trust  in 
God  that  clothes  dissolution  with  such  dread." 

**  So  I  think,  Mrs.  Parsons,"  returned  Amy.  "  We  are 
&very  one  born  to  die,  and  we  well  know  it ;  there  is  no 
tscape  from  that  law.  But  death  may  be  robbed  of  all 
ts  terrors.  I  believe  that  fear  of  death  is  only  cowardice  — 
noral  cowardice.  It  seems  to  argue  that  God  cannot  do 
nore  and  far  better  for  us  than  he  has  done  already," 
21 


242  AMY   LEE. 

"  What  a  beautiful  world  this  would  be,  Amy,  if  such 
feelings  were  general !  —  if  fear  was  driven  out,  and  only 
love  and  trust  reigned  !  " 

"  Ah,  yes,  Mrs.  Parsons,  if  only  sin  were  conquered  !  " 
returned  Amy,  her  countenance  lighting  with  an  almost 
saintly  expression.  "  If  we  could  but  whip  this  monster 
out  of  the  temple  of  our  souls  with  whips  of  scorpions  !  " 

"  Yes,  that  would  be  the  reign  of  Jesus  indeed.  That 
would  be  the  kingdom  already  come." 

"  Hasten  it  on,  then !  Hasten  it  on !  Let  us  all  work 
and  pray  —  work  and  pray  continually  !  There  is  a  mys 
terious  craving  within  us,  that  will  not  be  satisfied  with 
the  things  around  us.  There  is  a  something  in  our  hearts 
that  bids  us  everlastingly  aspire.  If  we  may  only  subject 
our  souls  to  the  most  perfect  filial  obedience,  and  thus 
subject  sin  in  its  turn  to  the  perpetual  reign  of  holiness, 
then  this  day  of  blessedness  has  dawned." 

"  It  may  not  dawn  in  our  time,  dear  Amy." 

"  Ah,  no  ;  yet  I  have  no  less  faith  to  believe  that  the 
hour  is  surely  approaching.  Christ  must  certainly  set  up 
his  kingdom  on  the  earth.  It  will  not  be  such  a  kingdom 
as  the  unbelieving  Jews  expected,  but  one  founded  in 
truth,  and  righteousness,  and  love,  and  peace.  The  lion 
and  the  lamb  shall  lie  down  then  together  —  a  beautiful 
symbol  of  the  universal  victory  of  Jesus  !  We  may  not 
live  iij  the  body  then,  Mrs.  Parsons ;  yet  I  do  believe  that 
this  heavenly  vision  will  gladden  our  spirits'  eyes." 

The  door  opened,  and  in  walked  Mr.  Parsons.     He  had 


AMY    AT    THE    PARSONAGE.  243 

been  out  calling  on  his  parishioners.  After  exchanging  the 
usual  pleasant  salutations  with  Amy,  he  drew  up  a  chair  ex 
actly  before  the  blazing  wood  fire,  and  between  his  wife  and 
Amy,  and  thrust  out  his  feet  on  the  hearth  to  warm  them. 

"  This  is  a  rather  raw  day,  Miss  Lee,"  he  said,  rubbing 
his  hands  and  holding  them  up  before  the  blaze.  "  I  de 
clare,  I  feel  the  air  more  than  I  have  any  day  this  fall, 
thus  far." 

"  Have  you  been  walking  any  distance  this  afternoon? " 
asked  his  wife. 

"  Well,  yes ;  perhaps  it  is  a  little  distance,"  he  replied, 
laughing.  "  Yet  I  shouldn't  think  it  was,  if  I  could  have 
a  pleasant  day  for  it.  I've  been  to  see  one  of  your  friends, 
Miss  Lee." 

"  Ah !  and  how  are  they,  over  at  Mrs.  Bucclebee's  ?  " 
inquired  Amy. 

"  O,  there  isn't*where  I've  been !  It's  at  quite  another 
place,  and  at  just  the  other  end  of  the  town." 

Amy  looked  up  in  his  face,  and  regarded  him  with  a 
smile  of  satisfaction. 

"  I've  been  up  to  see  Mrs.  Tatterags,"  said  he,  looking 
into  the  fire  musingly ;  "  Mrs.  Tatterags  and  all  her  nu 
merous  brood." 

"  There  is  really  a  yard  full  of  them,  isn't  there  ? " 
playfully  said  Amy. 

"  0,  yes,  indeed !  yes,  indeed !  But  Mrs.  Tatteraga 
seems  to  have  imbibed  a  little  more  cheerfulness  of  late. 
Once,  when  I  went  there,  she  found  time  for  little  else  but 


244  AMY    LEE. 

complaints,  and  regrets,  and  dissatisfactions  ;  now,  how 
ever,  it  doesn't  seem  to  be  quite  so  ;  she  has  a  little  sunnier 
countenance,  and  is  better  disposed  to  find  a  bright  side 
to  things,  if  there  is  one.  Miss  Lee,  I  shall  give  you  the 
credit  of  all  this  !  There's  no  telling  what  your  influence 
has  done  for  that  woman  —  and,  through  her,  for  the  whole 
family." 

Amy  looked  at  Mrs.  Parsons  and  blushed  ;  and  just  as 
she  would  have  withdrawn  her  eyes,  they  met  those  of 
Mrs.  Parsons,  and  were  fixed  upon  them. 

"  There's  no  need,"  added  Mr.  Parsons,  "  that  any  thing 
be  said  about  all  this,  for  I  do  not  suppose  that  you  ever 
had  such  a  motive  as  the  love  of  other  people's  praise ; 
you  have  acted  from  a  higher  principle,  I  know." 

"  If  I  have  done  any  good,"  said  Amy 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  if  you  have  done  any  good  ! "  broke  in  the 
clergyman  ;  "  if  you  have,  of  course  !  " 

"  It  is  a  source  of  the  deepest  joy  to  me,"  continued 
Amy.  "  It  will  most  certainly  bring  its  own  reward  along 
with  it." 

"That's  what  it  will!"  echoed  Mr.  Parsons,  with  a 
good  deal  of  contagious  heartiness. 

"  I  act  only  from  love.  If  I  can  but  do  any  good,  I 
esteem  it  more  a  privilege  for  myself  than  for  those  to 
whom  the  service  may  be  done." 

The  clergyman  and  his  estimable  wife  exchanged  happy 
glances. 

Amy  pursued ;  —* 


AMY   AT   THE   PARSONAGE.  245 

"In  performing  a  kind  office,  my  benefit  is  always 
greater  than  that  of  the  other  party.  Not  that  I  set  out 
with  the  aim  to  make  it  so,  but  just  because  I  do  not  desire 
that  result.  In  such  a  kingdom  as  that  of  benevolence, 
he  who  is  the  least  in  motive,  in  ambition^  and  in  hope  of 
reward,  must  always  be  the  greatest.  Is  it  not  so  ?  " 

"  You  are  right,  Miss  Lee,"  answered  Mr.  Parsons.  "  I 
only  wish  that  all  the  world  believed  as  you  believe.  How 
soon  we  should  have  the  reign  of  contentment  and  happi 
ness,  if  these  things  were  really  so  !  " 

Mrs.  Parsons  rose  to  set  out  the  table,  and  in  a  very 
short  time  they  were  enjoying  the  pleasures  of  the  quiet 
evening  meal. 

21* 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 
THE  SNOW  STORM. 

**  I  MUST  go  over  to  the  mountain  this  afternoon,"  said 
Amy  one  Saturday  in  December ;  "for  Mrs.  Tatterags  will 
really  think  I  have  forgotten  them  all."  So  after  dinner 
she  started  off  alone,  pursuing  her  usual  route  by  the  old 
bridge. 

It  was  a  melancholy  day,  so  far  as  outward  aspects  went, 
with  a  gloomy  sky,  and  dull  masses  of  clouds  blotting  out 
the  sun.  Any  one  at  all  familiar  with  the  promises  of  the 
weather  would  have  said  it  was  going  to  snow ;  that  the 
air,  indeed,  was  "  full  of  it."  But  such  a  consideration 
did  not  seem  to  influence  Amy  at  all,  even  if  it  once 
occurred  to  her. 

The  road,  after  getting  out  of  the  habitable  part  of  the 
village,  was  lonely  and  desolate.  The  sombre  color  of  the 
sky  lent  its  influence  even  to  the  inanimate  objects  with 
which  her  eyes  were  so  familiar.  The  chill  atmosphere 
made  every  thing  else  look  cold  and  forbidding.  So  dif 
ferent  were  the  old  stone  walls  now  by  the  road  side,  once 
ruffled  with  wild  vine  leaves,  or  buried  beneath  the  masses 
of  self-reliant  shrubbery !  So  naked,  so  bald,  so  uninvit- 

(216) 


THE    SNOW    STORM.  247 

ing,  lay  the  open  fields  on  every  hand,  stripped  of  their 
green  carpets,  their  thick-standing  armies  of  cornstalks, 
and  their  rustling  leaves  !  The  woods  up  on  the  moun 
tain's  side  were  gray  and  leafless.  No  shade  among  their 
whitened  boughs.  No  foliage  to  conceal  their  rugged 
stems.  No  clothing  for  the  jagged  rocks,  to  keep  them 
out  of  sight  on  the  hill  sides,  and  to  help  throw  over  na 
ture's  face  a  veil  of  beauty. 

When  she  came  to  the  bridge  again,  she  stopped  there 
as  usual,  musing  while  she  looked  over  the  rail.  The 
stream  was  frozen  as  smooth  as  glass.  The  surface  was 
bright  and  clear,  with  not  a  stain  from  the  mud  at  the 
bottom  of  the  river's  bed.  "  O,"  she  thought,  "  if  one 
could  but  understand  the  mystery  of  all  the  life  that  lies 
below !  So  many  things  are  concealed  from,  us  !  Where 
shall  we  begin  —  at  what  door  shall  we  enter  nature's 
temple  —  when  we  wish  to  become  learners  ?  " 

Turning  to  begin  the  ascent  of  the  mountain,  she  almost 
involuntarily  drew  a  long  breath,  as  if  to  gather  strength 
for  the  start.  Then  she  plodded  on  patiently,  one  foot 
before  the  other,  one  foot  before  the  other  all  the  time,  till 
she  arrived  at  the  high  plain  on  which  she  was  seated 
when  Dolly  first  presented  herself.  She  sat  down  on  a 
rock  again  to  rest  her,  and  then  hurried  on.  The  air  was 
very  chill,  and  her  walk  had  made  her  warm ;  she  feared  a 
cold,  if  she  should  sit  down  long  now. 

The  moment  she  came  in  sight  of  the  Tatterag  domicile 
she  paused  to  listen.  She  did  not  know  exactly  why  she 


248  AMY   LEE« 

did  so,  but  perhaps  it  was  habit.  Immediately  she  caught 
the  confused  cries  of  children,  as  if  some  little  Babel  might 
have  broken  loose.  Evidently  the  younger  part  of  the 
family  were  having  a  good  time  of  it. 

As  soon  as  she  knocked  on  the  inner  door,  the  outer 
one  being  left  ajar  at  all  seasons  of  the  year,  the  noise 
ceased. 

"  There  !  "  cried  one  and  another.  "  Who's  that  ? 
Hark,  now !  Hark  a  minute,  can't  ye  ? "  she  heard  on 
all  sides. 

'*  O,  do  shet  up !  "  came  a  man's  voice.  "  It's  enough 
to  craze  any  body,  an'  it  don't  signify." 

"  La,  Israel !  "  exclaimed  a  voice  that  Amy  knew  to  be 
the  wife's  ;  "  do  let  'em  have  a  little  play  once  in  a  while. 
They  don't  hurt  nobody." 

Fearing  that  the  youngsters  might  go  at  their  sport 
again,  especially  after  this  favorable  word  from  their 
mother,  Amy  knocked  once  more,  and  still  louder. 

"  Why!  "said  Mrs.  Tatterags,  stepping  heavily  across 
the  floor  ;  "  somebody's  to  the  door."  And  instantly  she 
opened  it  wide  upon  Amy.  "  Of  all  things  in  the  world ! " 
exclaimed  the  astonished  woman.  "  Miss  Lee,  I  do  de 
clare  !  Walk  in,  Miss  Lee  ;  do.  We  hain't  got  any  too 
much  room,  you  see  ;  but  we're  always  glad  to  see  you" 

So  Amy  went  in,  and  tried  in  a  single  moment  to  make 
herself  at  home  and  at  her  ease.  Had  she  appeared  oth 
erwise,  in  the  least  degree  distant  or  ceremonious,  she 
would  have  excited  all  their  suspicions  in  an  instant,  and 


THE    SNOW    STORM.  249 

counteracted  the  very  object  for  which  she  was  in  the  habit 
of  coming. 

"Afternoon,  ma'am,"  saluted  Mr.  Tatterags  from  his 
seat  in  the  corner  of  the  fireplace,  where  he  was  holding 
his  head  with  exemplary  patience  between  his  knees. 

Amy  returned  his  greeting,  and  little  more  passed  be 
tween  them  ;  for,  in  the  first  place,  Israel  Tatterags  was 
altogether  too  lazy  a  man  to  be  expected  to  make  any  great 
display  in  conversation ;  and,  in  the  next  place,  he  had  a 
habit  of  taking  himself  off  out  of  doors  pretty  soon  after 
an  arrival.  Amy  had  observed  this  long  ago,  and  had 
become  quite  reconciled  to  so  singular  an  arrangement. 

Very  soon  she  and  Mrs.  Tatterags  were  busily  talking. 
The  latter,  of  course,  held,  or  labored  to  hold,  her  young 
est  in  her  arms,  whose  vigorous  kicking,  and  jumping,  and 
tossing  sometimes  took  the  breath  out  of  her  sentences 
before  she  had  got  quite  half  through  with  them. 

Amy  wished  to  know  if  little  Dolly  needed  any  more 
winter  clothes.  She  had  given  her  a  nice  woollen  frock 
already,  remade  from  one  of  her  own  warm  merinos,  and 
a  pair  of  shoes,  also  some  stockings ;  and  with  the  aid  of 
Olive,  she  had  knit  her  a  warm  hood,  comforter,  and  pair 
of  mittens.  And  now  she  came  in  to  see  how  they  were 
all  getting  on,  and  if  she  could,  with  her  small  means,  da 
any  thing  more.  Here  is  a  beautiful  picture  for  those  who 
ride  easily  in  velvet-cushioned  carriages,  and  whose  purses 
have  never  yet  shown  from  the  inside  that  they  have  a 
bottom. 


250  Ainr  LEE. 


"  0,  bless  you  !  "  answered  the  mother,  in  a  subdaed 
voice,  that  betrayed  a  great  deal  of  feeling  ;  "  what  are 
we  to  do  to  pay  you  back  for  all  this?  I'm  sure  I 
don't  see." 

"  Nothing,"  answered  Amy.  "  I  do  what  I  do  because 
it  brings  me  pleasure.  That  is  all.  I  wish  it  made  you 
one  half  as  happy  as  it  does  me."  • 

The  woman  looked  inquiringly  at  her  a  moment,  as  if 
she  did  not  quite  understand  such  a  receipt  for  pleasure  as 
that.  Others,  besides  Mrs.  Tatterags,  would  ignorantly 
do  the  same  thing  to-day. 

"  You  repay  me  abundantly,"  Amy  went  on,  "  by  letting 
little  Dolly  come  to  school."  The  child  had  at  the  first 
gone  up  to  Amy's  side,  and  stood  leaning  against  her,  like 
a  lamb  against  its  mother.  "  Dolly,"  said  Amy,  brushing 
her  hair  away  gently  from  her  temples,  "  you  like  to  come 
to  school  —  don't  you  ?  Don't  you  think  she  has  made 
some  progress  since  I  took  her  ?  "  she  inquired  of  her 
mother. 

"  0,  dear  !  Miss  Lee,  what  can  I  say  to  you  ?  You 
have  gone  and  done  so  much  for  her,  —  so  much  more 
than  I  ever  thought  't  any  body  could  do,  —  't  I'm  a'most 
sick  thinkin'  ho'.v  poorly  the  rest  appear  by  the  side  of 
her." 

"  O,  well,  Mrs.  Tatterags,  we  mustn't  get  discouraged, 
you  know,  simply  because  we  cannot  do  in  one  day  the 
work  that  belongs  to  months  and  years.  ,  "When  we  find 
an  opportunity  to  take  hold,  we  should  take  hold,  without 


THE    SNOW    STORM.  251 

any  feeling  like  dissatisfaction  that  we  cannot  do  more. 
As  we  get  on,  we  shall  find  that  the  field  widens.  Work 
will  be  given  us  just  as  fast  as  we  can  perform  it  —  you 
may  be  satisfied  of  that.  O,  no,  Mrs.  Tatterags ;  don't 
let  us  get  discouraged." 

It  was  a  very  pleasing  way  Amy  had,  and  one  well  cal 
culated  to  call  out  the  sympathies  of  a  person  like  this 
feeble  woman,  —  this  speaking  of  us,  whenever  she  spoke 
only  of  her.  It  helped  the  woman  to  a  higher  feeling  of 
self-respect,  and  encouraged  the  delightful  idea  of  a  uni 
versal  sisterhood. 

While,  therefore,  these  two  sat  and  talked  about  Dolly, 
about  the  school,  about  household  matters,  and  about  the 
general  well  being  and  comfort  of  that  noisy  little  family, 
the  others,  who  had  by  this  time  satisfied  themselves  with 
gazing  at  Amy's  dress,  features,  and  general  appearance, 
now  fell  to  their  play  again  with  almost  redoubled  spirit 
and  energy.  They  would  now  and  then  glance  around  to 
be  sure  that  their  visitor  was  looking  at  them,  and  then 
drive  on  with  the  most  increased  vehemence. 

Did  any  one,  who  ever  visited  where  young  children 
chiefly  abound,  fail  to  discover  that  there  is  a  universal 
tendency  among  them  to  "show  off"  the  most  when  a 
stranger  is  about  ?  Whether  it  is  observed  or  not,  it  is 
even  so. 

The  little  Tatterags  went  at  it  soul  and  body.  One 
caught  another  by  the  ears,  extracting  any  thing  but  a  de 
lectable  squeal  from  the  victim.  One  jumped  on  another's 


252  AMY   LEE. 

back,  playing  "  ride  the  horse  to  Boston."  Another 
climbed  upon  the  table,  and  after  spying  his  none  too 
clean  countenance  in  the  broken  and  smoky  glass,  cried 
out  from  his  perch  to  the  others,  "  See  me  —  see  me  !  I'm 
a-lookin'  inter  the  Zoofcm'-glass  !  "  and  immediately  jumped 
from  the  table  to  the  floor  with  an  emphasis  that  jarred 
the  whole  domicile. 

They  played  menagerie,  imitating  the  not  very  eupho 
nious  cries  of  the  various  wild  beasts  they  tried  to  person 
ate.  From  under  the  table  roared  a  savage  young  lion. 
Perched  on  the  rounds  of  a  chair  howled  an  awfully  fierce 
hyena.  A  huge  elephant  —  huge  chiefly  on  the  map  of 
imagination  —  swung  his  great  trunk  hither  and  thither, 
youthful  ingenuity  having  substituted  a  dilapidated  trow- 
sers'  leg  for  that  branch  of  the  animal ;  and  after  perform 
ing  this  favorite  evolution,  the  counterfeit  animal  set  up 
its  appalling  cry,  "Oof — oof!  wank  —  tank  !  oof — 
OOF  ! "  This  brought  out  the  whole  series  of  cages  in  a 
roar  of  laughter.  Amy  had  been  slyly  watching  the  odd 
performances,  and  now  she  joined  in  with  them  with  great 
gusto.  Seeing  this,  the  young  animals  severally  laughed 
the  louder  for  a  moment,  and  then  hid  their  heads  for 
shame  in  their  several  cages. 

"  Them  children  ! "  exclaimed  the  mother,  as  if  to  apol 
ogize  for  their  strange  conduct. 

"  O,  they  are  having  a  nice  time  of  it,  I  dare  say," 
returned  Amy.  '*  Let  them  go  on.  I  like  to  see  children 
happy." 


THE    SNOW    STORM.  253 

"  Yes,  but  they  needn't  be  so  noisy,  I  shouldn't  think. 
Children,  don't  you  make  so  much  noise ;  you'll  drive 
Miss  Lee  out  of  the  house."  Israel  had  gone  already,  but 
hardly  in  consequence  of  the  racket.  It  was  his  custom, 
as  I  said  before,  to  slip  out  whenever  any  one  else  slipped 
in,  as  if  there  might  nqt  be  quite  room  enough  for  two  at 
a  time  there. 

By  and  by  there  arose  a  greater  cry,  and  from  all  the 
throats  at  once  :  "  See  —  see  !  It  snows  —  it  snows  !  " 

"Yes  —  yes!     It  snows  —  it  snows  !" 

"  And  bites  my  toes,"  rhymed  in  another. 

Amy  looked  out  the  low  and  dingy  window,  and  saw 
that  the  snow  was  falling  thick  and  fast. 

"  Really,  now,"  she  exclaimed  to  Mrs.  Tatterags ;  "  I'm 
caught  out  in  a  storm." 

"  I'm  sorry  enough  for  it,"  returned  Mrs.  Tatterags  ; 
"  but  I  guess  'taint  a-goin'  to  snow  a  great  deal.  If  it 
does,  'spose  you  stay  up  here  all  night  with  us."  And 
she  could  not  help  a  smile  as  she  made  the  offer.  "  We 
haven't  any  too  nice  accommodations,  I  know ;  but  such 
as  we  have,  you're  welcome  to  'em,  if  any  body  is." 

"  O,  thank  you,"  said  Amy ;  "  I  do  not  think  I  shall 
have  any  trouble  about  getting  home.  I'm  not  afraid  of 
snow.  But  then  it  would  be  as  well  for  me  to  start 
pretty  soon." 

"  Yes,  I  should  think  so  myself,"  replied  Mrs.  Tatter 
ags.  "  But  I  hate  to  have  you  go.  I  don't  know  why 
22 


254  AMY   LEE. 

it  is,  but  I  like  to  have  you  come  up  here.  There  ain't 
a  human  face  that  I'd  rather  see  than  yours.'* 

Amy  thanked  her  kindly  for  her  professions  of  good 
feeling.  She  felt  that  her  reward  was  already  far  greater 
than  she  deserved.  The  affection  of  this  woman  was  a 
source  of  deep  self- congratulation.  It  more  than  compen 
sated  for  all  her  sacrifices  and  all  her  little  troubles. 

She  had  much  to  say  additionally  to  Mrs.  Tatteraga 
before  she  could  take  her  leave ;  and  then  there  were 
many  things  of  which  she  wished  to  speak  to  little  Dolly. 
As  yet  she  had  not  had  much  talk  with  her  favorite,  con 
siderately  putting  her  off  till  she  should  have  concluded 
with  the  rest.  So  that  when  she  did  finally  rise  from  her 
seat  to  go,  the  air  was  thick  with  the  falling  flakes,  and 
the  ground  was  white  every  where. 

"  I'm  afraid  you  can't  find  your  way,"  said  Mrs.  Tatter- 
ags,  as  they  stood  together  in  the  outer  door. 

"  O,  I  guess  so,"  said' Amy,  fearing  no  hinderance. 

"It's  a-goin'  to  be  a  great  storm,  though,  I  think,  after 
all,"  the  woman  added,  peering  as  far  out  as  her  sight 
would  allow  her  into  the  atmosphere.  "  Hadn't  you  bet 
ter  go  the  other  way,  down  by  Mr.  Rackett's  house,  ou 
this  road?"  pointing  with  her  hand  in  the  opposite. di 
rection. 

"  No,  I  think  not,"  was  Amy's  answer.  "  Besides,  I'd 
like  very  well,  for  once,  to  see  how  such  a  storm  appears 
from  this  height.  I  want  to  get  a  view  down  into  the 
valley." 


THE    SJTOW    STORM.  255 

"  Perhaps  you  will ;  but  I'm  thinkin'  this  snow  won't 
let  you  see  but  a  dreadful  little  ways,  Miss  Lee.  I  hope 
you'll  go  safe,  though.  Good  afternoon,  now.  Do  be 
careful  as  you  can,  and  take  care  o'  yourself." 

Amy  thanked  her  for  her  kindly  warning,  and  wished 
her  "  good  afternoon,"  and  Dolly  likewise,  who  still  held 
her  by  the  hand. 

Once  through  the  gate,  and  out  into  the  open  fields, 
with  this  fine  snow  flying  and  blowing  and  whirling  in 
her  face,  and  she  felt  in  a  moment  an  enlarging  sense  of 
freedom.  She  swung  her  arms  about  in  childish  delight, 
and  drew  long  and  deep  breaths  into  her  lungs.  A  feel 
ing  of  sudden  invigoration  came  over  her,  and  she  became 
strong.  The  strange  stillness  of  nature,  and  only  this 
rustling  of  the  falling  snow  in  her  ears,  wrapped  her  in 
profound  thoughtfulness.  Every  thing  seemed  a  great 
mystery  around  her.  The  air,  filled  with  the  million  and 
ten  million  flakes,  every  one  dancing  and  sailing  on  its 
own  course  to  the  earth,  almost  invited  her  to  sail  away 
with  these  winged  messengers  into  its  vast  and  silent 
abysses.  Going  through  the  piece  of  woods,  the  path  was 
entirely  obliterated.  She  could  hear  the  snow  dropping 
through  the  boughs  with  an  almost  murmurous  sound, 
like  the  footfall  of  angels  that  were  unseen.  She  paused 
and  listened  for  the  meaning  that  seemed  to  reveal  itself 
to  her  spirit  —  so  still,  so  solitary,  so  much  away  from  the 
reach  of  all  the  world.  She  would  sit  down  a  few  mo 
ments,  even  in  the  midst  cf  that  steady  storm,  and  enjoy 


256  AMY   LEE. 

to  the  utmost  these  manifold  influences.  And  in  that 
wood  the  light  came  but  dimly ;  and  the  curtain  of  the 
snow  was  fast  shutting  out  even  what  little  light  there 
was ;  still  she  kept  her  seat,  and  kept  holy  companionship 
with  her  thoughts. 

After  some  time  she  rose.  Looking  over  her  shoulders, 
she  discovered  that  her  apparel  was  hardly  less  than  a  sheet 
of  snow.  She  laughingly  shook  it  off,  however,  and  for 
a  'few  moments  hurried  on.  But  only  for  a  few  moments  ; 
for  as  soon  as  she  turned  the  well-known  angle  of  the 
mountain's  side,  and  came  in  view  of  the  broad  plateau, 
already  deep  with  the  pearly  flakes,  she  looked  away  into 
the  mysterious  sky,  and  lifted  both  hands  in  qlelight  and 
wonder.  '*  0,  how  grand  !  how  beautiful !  "  were  her 
exclamations,  as  she  hastened  forward  to  the  edge  of  the 
natural  shelf,  eager  to  take  into  her  soul  the  comprehen 
sive  whole  of  so  indescribable  a  picture.  And  as  soon  as 
she  could  find  a  seat,  she  gave  herself  to  the  contemplation 
of  a  sight  that  had  for  her  such  a  mystery  and  such  a  glory. 
The  words  spoken  to  Job  came  freshly  to  her  mind  — 
"  Hast  thou  entered  into  the  treasures  of  the  snow  ?  —  or 
hast  thou  seen  the  treasures  of  the  hail  ?  " 

In  the  valley  below  she  could  descry  nothing.  It  was  a 
mass  of  wheeling  and  whirling  snow  flakes.  It  seemed  as 
if  the  view  was  entirely  blocked  up.  The  whiteness  of 
the  snow  dazzled  her  eyes.  The  longer  she  gazed,  the 
more  its  perpetual  falling  —  foiling  —  falling  —  bewildered 
her  brain.  She  looked  upwards  into  the  sky,  and  nothing 


THE    SNOW   STOEM.  257 

•was  there  but  this  dim  veil  of  the  snow  clouds.  She 
looked  off  down  the  valley,  or  where  she  thought  the 
valley  should  be,  and  nothing  was  there  but  the  same  per 
petually  shifting  veil.  It  curtained  out  the  heavens,  and 
it  curtained  out  the  earth.  The  feathery  drops  fell  on  her 
uplifted  face,  and  dissolved  instantly.  She  shut  her  eyes, 
compressed  her  lips,  and  laughed  to  feel  the  storm  toying  and 
playing  over  her  forehead  and  cheeks.  Its  melted  moisture 
seemed  to  refresh  her.  Her  spirits  frolicked  like  those  of  a 
child,  and  danced  within  her  as  gayly  as  the  very  flakes  whose 
motion  appeared  such  a  maze  of  mystery.  It  was  a  new 
experience  for  her.  It  was  a  strange  hour,  full  of  bewil 
dering  delight  and  joy.  She  wanted  to  outstretch  her 
arms,  and  grasp  the  great  multitude  of  unseen  ones  that 
seemed  hovering  around  her.  She  wanted  to  shout,  to 
cry  out  at  the  top  of  her  voice,  as  if  mysterious  echoes 
might  return  to  her  from  every  quarter.  O,  there  was 
such  a  rush  of  feelings  every  moment  at  her  heart !  There 
was  such  a  host  of  strange  thoughts  each  moment  at  her 
brain !  And  this  was  an  old-fashioned  New  England  snow 
storm;  exactly  such  a  one  as  mighfbe  sought  for  among 
the  bold  hills  and  mountain  heights  of  Vermont,  or  the 
still  bolder  and  ruggeder  elevations  of  New  Hampshire. 

Amy  was  not  aware  how  long  she  was  sitting  there,  oc 
cupied  with  her  excited  feelings.  She  did  not  know  that 
the  daylight  was  "nearly  gone,  that  there  was  no  twilight 
at  this  season  of  the  year,  that  much  more  snow  had  fallen 
since  she  left  the  house  of  the  Tatterags,  and  that  the  roads 
22  * 


258  AMY    LEE. 

and  pathways  were  now  completely  hidden  and  blocked  up. 
The  delay  at  the  house,  after  she  knew  that  the  storm  had 
fairly  and  fiercely  set  in,  the  other  stoppage  in  that  patch 
of  woods,  before  she  came  out  upon  this  broad  white  plain 
—  these  she  seemed  to  have  forgotten.  Her  mind  was  so 
taken  up  with  the  storm  itself  and  its  thousand  great  and 
grand  mysteries,  she  cared  and  thought  little  about  herself, 
•where  she  was,  or  whither  she  was  going.  But  when  her 
senses  came  back  to  her,  she  looked  hurriedly  about  her, 
and  found  that  night  was  fast  coming  on.  The  storm  in 
creased  the  darkness.  Gloom  was  every  moment  inwrap- 
ping  her  in  its  folds. 

She  rose  in  haste  and  bent  her  steps  in  the  direction  of 
the  old  path.  For  a  little  while  this  was  very  well.  But 
presently  she  found  all  the  well-known  landmarks,  the 
familiar  rocks  and  trees,  entirely  disguised  or  covered  up. 
This  was  something  she  had  not  foreseen ;  nay,  such  a 
thought  had  not  entered  her  mind.  She  had  no  experience 
in  these  matters,  and  innocently  supposed  she  could  no 
more  lose  her  way  now  than  she  could  in  a  storm  of  rain. 
Yet  the  heaped  snows  told  no  tales  of  familiar  tree  trunks, 
or  well-known  rocks,  or  even  of  the  cart  track  that  had 
led  her  along  so  many  times  in  safety.  She  turned  her 
eyes  searchingly  towards  the  spot  where  she  thought  the 
village  lay,  but  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  but  the  whirl 
ing  snows.  She  looked  on  one  side  and  the  other,  and 
both  were  alike  to  her  ;  and  in  the  midst  of  looking,  now 
one  way  and  now  another,  she  became  all  at  once  bewil- 


THE    SNOW    STORM.  259 

dered,  and  could  not  tell  which  way  she  had  come,  or 
which  she  was  going.  It  was  all  confusion  to  her.  She 
knew  not  the  way  up  the  mountain  or  down  it.  Thus  far 
she  had  penetrated  into  this  labyrinth,  and  she  could  go 
no  farther.  If  she  still  persisted  in  walking,  where  would 
her  efforts  bring  her  out  ?  Or,  if  she  stood  still,  how 
would  that  be  any  better  ?  The  wind  was  rising  fast,  and 
its  swift  breaths  drove  the  snow  flakes  into  her  face.  They 
cut  her  cheeks,  her  eyelids,  and  her  lips  with  their  pierc 
ing  little  crystal  arrows.  They  matted  her  hair,  making  it 
wet  and  heavy  over  her  temples.  She  brushed  it  back 
with  both  hands,  as  if  that  would  help  her  to  see  more 
clearly  into  the  glimmering  duskiness.  The  snows  blew 
into  her  eyes,  and  she  was  forced  to  close  them  from  pain. 

Still  she  did  not  think  of  giving  up  heart  or  courage. 
Her  spirits  rather  rose  with  the  sense  of  confusion,  and 
out  of  these  innumerable  cross-purposes  asserted  their  own 
supremacy.  She  gathered  her  skirts  about  her  with  one 
hand,  and  resolved  to  push  on  and  brave  the  storm  as  long 
as  she  could.  Heaven  had  taken  kind  care  of  her  till  this 
hour ;  would  Heaven  desert  her  now  ? 

It  was  really  encouraging,  and  would  have  called  forth 
admiration  from  any  heart,  to  witness  the  stout  and  persist 
ent  courage  that  carried  her  forward.  At  short  intervals 
she  would  brush  back  her  tangled  hair  with  the  disengaged 
hand,  and  then  push  on  again,  searching  anew  for  the  road 
that  would  conduct  her  in  safety.  Her  tired  feet  had  all 
the  while  been  slipping  backward,  and  now  they  began  to 


260  AMY  LEE: 

etumble  over  the  rough  surfaces  of  the  ground.  Next  she 
felt  that  she  was  walking  at  only  a  tottering  pace,  and 
faintly  realized  that  her  strength  was  by  degrees  leaving 
her.  Had  she  known  just  where  she  was  walking,  she 
might  have  gone  on  steadily  without  exhaustion ;  but  the 
bewilderment  occasioned  by  not  knowing  the  path  or  the 
direction,  or  whether  she  was  going  right  or  wrong,  con 
fused  her  thoughts,  misdirected  her  usual  energies,  and 
left  her  almost  a  prey  to  the  many  chances  that  surrounded 
her.  Feeling  thus,  she  became  of  course  gradually  more 
and  more  weak,  and  less  and  less  able  to  hold  out  till  she 
might  chance  to  reach  the  road  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain. 
Yet  sensible  as  she  at  last  began  to  be  of  her  unhappy 
condition,  her  heart  never  grew  fretful,  nor  did  even  her 
thoughts  utter  a  murmur.  It  was  still  "  TJiy  will ! " 
even  as  it  had  been  with  her  from  the  beginning.  If  the 
snows  were  to  cover  her,  and  beneath  the  shroud  of  their 
whiteness  she  was  to  go  to  her  last  sleep,  then  the  Lord 
still  did  all  things  well !  She  should  trust  with  her  whole 
heart  forever ! 

She  slipped  again,  fell  backwards,  recovered  herself  with 
the  aid  of  a  neighboring  tree,  stopped  a  moment,  and 
began  tc  reflect  what  was  best  to  be  done.  All  around 
her  as  far  as  her  sight  could  reach,  wherever  she  turned 
her  eyes,  into  whatever  quarter  she  tried  to  penetrate, 
nothing  but  a  thick  tempest  of  snow.  It  walled  her  in  on 
all  sides  like  a  dense  fog.  She  could  see  no  trees  in  the 
distance,  no  rocks,  no  road;  she  was  left  to  the  strength 


THE    SNOW    STOEM.  261 

of  her  limbs  alone  to  extricate  her  from  the  fearful  situa 
tion  in  which  she  found  herself. 

Another  effort,  another  brave  sally  of  the  will,  and  her 
feet  were  once  more  in  motion.  She  made  an  almost  su 
perhuman  exertion,  and  pushed  on.  But  whither?  Was 
she  going  nearer  the  true  road,  or  was  she  wandering  away 
from  it  all  the  time  ?  If  she  could  but  be  certain  she  was 
going  right,  then  she  felt  as  if  her  strength  would  easily 
hold  out ;  for  this  assurance  would  encourage  her.  But 
if  she  knew  not  whether  right  or  wrong,  the  perplexity  of 
her  feelings,  combined  with  the  ruggedness  of  the  ground, 
the  bewilderment  of  the  storm,  and  the  confusion  of  her 
purposes,  would  very  rapidly  take  the  sinews  out  of  her 
courage,  and  she  would  have  to  give  up  for  weakness  and 
despair. 

It  grew  darker  and  darker  every  moment ;  so  dark  that 
she  could  scarcely  see  a  tree  till  she  came  exactly  upon 
it;  and  she  stumbled  about  over  the  rocks  and  stones 
without  either  purpose  or  strength.  Her  thoughts  went 
back,  back  to  her  father.  They  hovered  about  the  dear 
friends  she  had  left  in  the  little  village.  She  silently  in 
voked  a  blessing  on  them  all,  for  the  truth  at  last  dawned 
upon  her  that  she  might  never  behold  them  again.  Mrs. 
Gummel  was  in  her  mind  continually.  And  so  were  her 
dear  friend  Olive,  and  Mr.  Parsons,  and  his  wife.  How 
they  would  grieve  over  the  sad  event  that  this  day  was 
threatening  to  bring  them  !  How  they  would  weep  to  find 
her  body  buried  beneath  the  snows,  cold,  lifeless,  and  stiff! 


262  AMY   LEE. 

She  stumbled  and  tottered  on,  it  mattered  but  little' 
whither,  so  she  but  kept  herself  in  motion.  But  she 
could  not  do  even  that  long.  Her  sight  grew  dim,  and  all 
things  were  swimming,  and  dancing,  and  whirling  before 
her.  Now  the  dark  old  trees  came  round,  now  the  rocks, 
now  the  abysses  of  the  sky,  and  now  the  rocks  and  the 
trees  again.  She  stretched  forth  her  hand  blindly,  as  if 
to  grasp  something  that  she  saw.  She  trembled  and  shook 
like  an  aspen  leaf,  still  battling  bravely  with  the  feelings 
of  cowardice  and  despair.  She,  a  feeble  and  frail  girl, 
defying,  as  it  were,  the  tempests  out  of  the  deep  heavens, 
staying  up  her  form  like  a  bending  reed  against  their  pow 
er,  and  persisting  in  the  face  of  storm  and  gloom  in  seek 
ing  her  lone  path  out  through  the  armies  pf  both  into  final 


But  it  was  too  much.  The  powers  of  nature  must  give 
out,  though  the  spirit  was  yet  courageous  and  strong.  She 
sank  down  easily  upon  the  soft  snow,  almost  before  she 
was  aware  of  it.  Looking  about  her  in  the  darkness,  she 
faintly  realized  her  hopeless  condition.  It  all  flashed  over 
her,  though  she  felt  nevertheless  that  she  must  be  in  a 
dream,  that  her  last  hour  had  come.  Instantly  she  threw 
herself  on  her  knees,  and  raised  her  head  in  earnest  prayer. 

'*  O  God,  who  sendest  thy  snows  upon  the  earth,  turn 
not  away  from  me  in  this  hour !  Enfold  me  in  the  ever 
lasting  arms  of  thy  love !  Save  me  from  all  harms,  and 
bring  me  to  thee  !  O  Lord,  thy  will  be  done  !  thy  will  be 
!  Be  with  me  in  this  dark  hour,  and  receive  my 


THE    SNOW    STOEM.  263 

spirit !  0,  let  not  my  faith  grow  dim  in  this  trying  mo 
ment  !  Strengthen  my  heart  by  thy  love,  and  take  me  to 
thy  bosom  at  last ! " 

Suddenly  she  heard  a  cry  —  a  shout,  clear  and  shrill. 

"  Holloa  !     Holloa  !  " 

She  erected  her  head  and  listened,  her  eyes  wandering 
every  where. 

"Who's  that?  Who's  there?"  came  the  voice.  It 
was  a  man's  shout,  and  help  was  at  hand.  God  had  heard 
the  cry  of  the  orphan,  and  had  never  for  a  moment  forgot 
ten  her  living  faith. 

She  called  as  loud  as  she  could,  once,  twice,  three  times. 

Immediately  a  man's  form  sprang  aside  from  the  path 
way,  and  stooped  down  to  lift  her  from  the  ground. 

"Fury  !  "  was  his  exclamation.    "  Why,  it's  Miss  Lee  ! " 

She  knew  the  voice,  and  could  just  distinguish  the  face. 
Both  belonged  to  no  other  person  than  Israel  Tatterags. 

Without  any  words,  and  as  if  he  was  suddenly  gifted 
with  a  new  strength,  he  took  her  unresistingly  in  his  arms, 
and  hurried  with  her  down  into  the  road,  over  the  bridge, 
and  into  the  nearest  house. 

Strangely  as  it  happened,  too,  she  had  wandered  but  a 
little  ways  from  the  path,  though  to  her  it  was  the  same  as 
if  she  had  strayed  miles  and  miles  away. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 
A  NEW  COMER. 

THE  winter  wore  away  with  few  or  no  interruptions. 
The  school  continued  pleasant  and  prosperous,  the  pupils 
made  excellent  progress,  and  all  went  on  harmoniously 
and  to  general  satisfaction. 

Amy's  friendship  for  Olive  became  deeper  and  broader 
continually.  Many  was  the  evening,  after  school  was  over, 
that  she  would  go  there  to  take  tea  and  pass  the  night, 
sure  of  a  most  enjoyable  time  between  supper  and  the  late 
hour  of  retiring.  Mrs.  Bucclebee  usually  sat  with  them 
for  a  while,  offering  to  make  some  little  conversation  with 
Amy  now  and  then,  and  then  went  off  to  her  own  room. 
It  was  a  little  noticeable,  indeed,  that  during  Amy's  whole 
acquaintance  with  Olive,  and  through  the  entire  series  of 
her  visits  at  the  house,  she  had  effected  no  terms  of  famil 
iarity  with  the  aunt,  and  knew  her  not  as  well  as  she  knew 
many  others  of  the  ladies  in  the  village.  Mrs.  Bucclebee 
was  a  woman  of  peculiar  habits  of  thought  and  feeling. 
Pride  was  at  the  helm  of  her  character ;  and  pride  never 
lets  in  any  more  of  the  gentler  and  lovelier  virtues  at  the 
door  than  it  can  well  help. 

(264) 


A    NEW    COMER.  265 

One  afternoon,  on  returning  home  from  her  day's  usual 
avocations  at  the  school  house,  and  while  she  was  sitting 
and  talking  with  Mrs.  Gummel  as  the  tea  was  drawing  on 
the  coals,  Mrs.  Bucclebee's  hired  man  came  past  the  front 
windows  and  knocked  at  the  door.  Amy  knew  in  a  mo 
ment  that  he  had  come  with  some  message  from  Olive  to 
herself ;  and  she  ran  to  receive  it.  The  man  handed  her 
a  note,  saying  that  he  brought  it  from  Miss  Olive.  Amy 
thanked  him ;  and  as  he  turned  away,  shut  the  door  and 
hurried  in  to  get  at  the  contents. 

"  MY  DEAR  AMY,"  they  ran  :  "  You  must  come  over  to 
Ivy  Lodge  to-morrow  after  dinner,"  [the  next  day  was 
Saturday,]  "  and  pass  the  afternoon  with  me.  I  have  got 
company,  —  you  can  guess  who,  —  and  I  know  we  shall 
make  out  a  most  delightful  afternoon.  I  must  tell  you, 
too,  dear  Amy,  that  I  am  so  happy  at  this  moment,  I 
desire  nothing  so  much  as  to  have  you  share  my  feelings 
with  me.  Come,  without  fail.  We  shall  be  expecting 
you  certainly. 

"  Yours  affectionately , 

"  OLIVE." 

Amy  immediately  mistrusted  who  "the  company" 
meant ;  but  she  was  not  certain.  She  and  Olive  had 
enjoyed  a  great  many  confidential  talks  before  now  ;  and 
it  would  not  be  strange  if  some  one  of  them  bore  closely 
upon  this  particular  matter. 
23 


266  AMY    LEE. 

Yet  she  thought  best  to  speak  with  Mrs.  Gummel 
about  it. 

"I  have  received  a  little  note  from  Olive,"  said  she; 
"  an  invitation  to  go  over  there  to-morrow  afternoon." 

Mrs.  Gummel  merely  smiled,  thinking  nothing  else 
could  be  called  for. 

"  Do  you  know  whether  they  have  any  company  there 
now  ? "  asked  Amy.  "  And  do  you  know  who  it  is  ? " 

"  Why,  yes ;  seems  to  me  I  did  see  a  strange  gentleman 
riding  out  with  Olive  this  afternoon — just  riding  through 
the  village  street." 

"  Don't  you  l&ow  who  it  is,  then  ?  " 

"  No,  I'm  sure  I  don't.     Who  is  it,  pray  ?  " 

"  O,  that's  just  what  I  am  to  find  out  myself,"  answered 
Amy ;  and  I  shall  probably  do  so  by  obeying  this  request 
of  my  friend  Olive  to-morrow  afternoon.  We  shall  see, 
I  think." 

Immediately  after  dinner,  therefore,  on  the  next  day, 
she  threw  on  her  things,  though  not  until  she  had  be 
stowed  more  than  usual  care  upon  her  dress,  and  walked 
thoughtfully  over  to  Ivy  Lodge.  Ij;  is  not  to  be  denied 
that  Amy  had  curiosity,  exactly  as  every  other  human 
being  possesses  it,  and  that  it  was  a  little  piqued  by  the 
dark  hintings  of  Olive's  note,  and  that  she  was  rather  glad 
that  it  was  so  soon  to  be  gratified ;  but  still  she  was  much 
more  moved  with  satisfied  feelings  at  the  thought  of  her 
friend's  happiness.  If  she  could  by  any  means  add  to  it 
in  the  least  degree,  that  would  most  certainly  be  her 
desire. 


267 

Coining  to  the  piazza,  Olive  ran  forward  to  meet  her, 
as  usual,  bareheaded  and  with  sparkling  eyes.  She  ex 
tended  both  hands  and  kissed  her. 

"  I'm  so  glad  you've  come  ! "  exclaimed  she  in  a  low 
tone  ;  "for  Ae's  here  at  last,  and  aunt  is  as  full  of  delight 
as  I  am." 

Amy  knew  now  in  a  moment  who  was  meant.  Olive 
had  made  her  a  confidant  in  this  matter  a  long  time 
before. 

They  stepped  briskly  across  the  piazza,  Olive  chattering 
busily  all  the  way,  and  still  holding  on  by  Amy's  hand.  She 
was  telling  her  what  a  wonderful  surprise  it  all  was,  how 
overjoyed  her  aunt  had  been  since  his  unexpected  arrival, 
what  he  had  said  about  himself  and  about  herself,  and 
how  she  had  described  Amy  all  out  to  him,  exciting  his 
imagination  to  such  a  pitch  that  he  insisted  on  seeing  her 
forthwith. 

" Now"  exclaimed  Amy  reprovingly,  " if  I  had  known 
this  before,  I  never  would  have  come  over  here  while  he 

staid." 

•> 

"  Wouldn't  you  ?  0,  wouldn't  you  ?  "  cried  Olive,  clap 
ping  her  hands  in  great  glee.  "  How  glad  I  am  you  didn't 
know  it !  What  fun  I  shall  have  yet !  O  Amy,  Amy  ! 
Do  you  know  that  he  is  in  love  with  you  already,  just 
from  hearing  my  description  of  you  ?  " 

Amy  blushed  deeply. 

They  passed  in ;  and  Olive  led  her  to  her  own  chamber, 
where  this  sort  of  conversation  was  still  further  carried  on, 
while  Amy  threw  off  her  bonnet  and  shawl. 


268  JLMT   LEE. 

"  I  declare,"  said  Olive,  flatteringly,  "how  very  fine 
you  do  look  to-day !  You  are  really  handsomer  than  ever, 
Amy,  I  do  believe.  Just  see  those  cheeks !  and  those 
eyes,  now ! " 

The  walk  had  thrown  a  beautiful  color  into  Amy's 
cheeks,  and  given  increased  animation  to  her  eyes ;  and 
it  is  not  to  be  concealed  that  she  looked  exceedingly 
interesting,  even  if  one  should  not  be  allowed  to  say  — 
handsome. 

"  Olive,"  she  returned,  turning  round  upon  her  with  a 
face  wreathed  with  smiles,  yet  quite  serious  in  one  aspect, 
"  I  do  certainly  hope  you  love  me  too  well  to  flatter  me. 
That  is  no  mark  of  a  sweet  and  exalted  friendship.  Pray, 
let  us  be  above  such  things." 

"  O  dear  Amy  !  "  said  Olive,  now  going  up  and  putting 
her  arm  about  her,  "  I  beg  you  to  forgive  me.  I  meant 
nothing  at  all,  only  —  only  that  I  think  you  do  look  so 
handsome.  And  I  can't  help  loving  you  all  the  more 
for  it." 

And  with  these  words  of  affectionate  pleading,  that  no 
heart  could  well  resist,  she  drew  Amy  to  her  with  her 
other  arm,  and  kissed  her  again  and  again. 

On  entering  the  parlor,  Amy  first  accosted  Mrs.  Buccle- 
bee,  walking  over  to  her  and  extending  her  hand.  Then 
this  lady  glanced  in  the  direction  of  the  visitor,  who  sat 
opposite,  and  mentioned  to  Amy  his  name. 

"  This  is  Mr.  Clendenning,"  said  she,  nodding  at  him. 
"  Miss  Amy  Lee  —  Mr.  Clendenning." 


A   NEW   COMER.  269 

The  gen;leman  arose,  made  a  very  respectful  bow,  of 
fered  to  help  the  young  ladies  to  chairs,  and  finally 
resumed  his  own. 

It  was  not  a  great  while  before  all  were  perfectly  at 
ease.  Mrs.  Bucclebee  seemed  particularly  anxious  to  keep 
the  conversation  a-going,  and  took  quite  enough  of  it 
upon  herself  to  make  up  for  the  two  girls  besides. 

The  stranger  was  a  man  perhaps  thirty-three  or  thirty- 
five  years  old,  of  a  rather  dark  and  foreign  appearance, 
and  with  a  countenance  and  manners  that  seemed  at  once 
to  confess  extensive  travel  and  a  familiar  acquaintance 
with  what  is  called  "the  world."  He  was  remarkably 
intelligent  in  regard  to  general  subjects  ;  and  his  answers 
to  the  questions  put  him  by  Mrs.  Bucclebee,  for  tha  sole 
purpose  of  drawing  him  out,  were  given  with  readiness, 
fulness,  and  a  not  unpleasing  flourish  of  words,  phrases, 
and  gesticulation. 

Mr.  Clendenning  —  to  let  the  reader  into  the  whole  of 
it  at  once  —  was  a  gentleman  of  fortune.  This  fortune  he 
had  acquired  during  a  course  of  years  in  South  America, 
by  tiading  extensively  in  the  products  of  the  interior. 
Having  finally  secured  the  amount  upon  which  his  ambi 
tious  spirit  early  fixed  itself,  he  had  returned  to  his  native 
city  and  country,  as  he  said  himself,  "  to  enjoy  it."  Many 
years  before  he  was  an  acquaintance  of  both  Mrs.  Buccle 
bee  and  her  deceased  husband ;  and  he  had  managed  in 
one  way  and  another  to  keep  up  the  intimacy,  till  now, 
when  he  was  ready  to  return,  ho  found  himself  in  fact  the 
23* 


270  AMY   LEE. 

bespoken  husband  of  their  pretty  niece.  He  had  not 
seen  her  since  she  was  a  little  girl ;  but  Mrs.  Bucclebee's 
thoughts  had  nursed  the  subject  very  tenderly,  and,  with 
out  a  final  meeting,  she  had  succeeded  in  bringing  about 
an  implied  betrothal.  Mrs.  Bucclebee  had  merely  made  a 
match  ;  Olive  saw  how  the  matter  gratified  her  aunt,  upon 
whom  she  was  entirely  dependent,  and  could  not  refuse 
ready  assent  to  whatever  proposal  came  from  her.  So 
while  she  was  yet  only  a  young  girl,  her  lich  nature  just 
beginning  to  ripen  and  develop  itself,  she  found  that  to 
all  purposes  either  of  choice  or  pleasure  her  hands  were  in 
fact  tied,  and  her  heart  was  given  away.  It  would  not  do 
now  to  rebel ;  and  she  had  no  intention  to  do  so,  either. 
She  felt  that  her  happiness  was  altogether  in  the  hands  of 
her  aunt,  and  that  nothing  but  her  word  was  law. 

Amy  did  not  know  this  at  the  first ;  but  she  was  not  a 
great  while  in  finding  it  out.  She  saw  for  herself  that 
this  was  nothing  more  than  a  meddlesome  match  between 
the  two  parties,  and  was  as  thoroughly  satisfied  that 
Olive's  aunt  was  at  the  bottom  of  it.  And  the  very  first 
thing  that  assured  her  of  this  fact  was  the  growing  indif 
ference  to  Mr.  Clendenning  that  Olive  could  not  help 
betraying.  Her  regard  was  too  forced ;  there  was  little 
real  nature  in  it,  and  there  must,  then,  be  but  little  love. 

The  conversation  went  on,  and  before  long  became  gen 
eral.  The  two  girls  occupied  themselves  with  needlework ; 
Mrs.  Bucclebee  took  upon  herself  a  sort  of  general  super 
vision  ;  and  the  stranger  exerted  himself  to  make  the  time 
pass  as  agreeably  as  possible. 


1    NEW    COMEE.  271 

One  thing  was  quite  noticeable  —  he  was  continually 
staring  at  Amy.  Something  attracted  him  very  power 
fully.  Every  time  her  own  eyes  chanced  to  wander  that 
way,  as  she  looked  up  from  her  work,  they  were  sure  to 
meet  the  fixed  gaze  of  Mr.  Clendenning.  Yet  he  seemed 
to  make  but  little  talk  with  her,  although  that  might 
easily  be  accounted  for  by  the  industry  of  Mrs.  Bucclebee 
in  engrossing  his  attention.  But  yet  those  eyes,  dark  and 
piercing,  expressed  much  more  than  words  would.  They 
embarrassed  Amy  very  sensibly ;  for  she  could  not  help 
being  perpetually  conscious  that  they  were  fixed  on  her, 
and  this  conviction  would  not  naturally  relieve  her  of  a 
feeling  of  undue  sensitiveness. 

"  Then  you  have  had  enough  of  South  American  life," 
said  Mrs.  Bucclebee,  wishing  to  show  him  off  on  a  subject 
with  which  he  must  be  perfectly  familiar. 

"  0,  yes,  indeed,"  said  he,  rather  dully.  "  I  desire  no 
more  of  it,  I  assure  you.  Give  me  the  good  old  quiet  life 
of  New  England  for  the  rest  of  my  days,  and  I  shall  be 
perfectly  satisfied." 

And  again  he  directed  his  eyes  at  Amy  —  perhaps  di 
recting  the  remark  to  her,  too. 

"  I  suppose  life  in  South  America  is  a  great  deal  more 
romantic,  more  poetic,  than  it  is  with  us,"  continued  Mrs. 
Bucclebee.  "  There  is  less  of  this  chilling  form  and  cold 
ceremony  —  isn't  there  ?  " 

He  smiled. 

"  Indeed,  there's  little  enough  of  that  any  where  in 


272  AMY    LEE. 

South  America,  I  can  promise  you,  especially  in  the  inte 
rior  sections  of  the  continent.  No  great  field  for  etiquette 
or  rank  either,  Mrs.  Bucclebee,  among  the  serpents  and 
wild  beasts  in  the  jungles." 

"  Serpents  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  B.,  with  a  shudder  and  a 
shrug  of  her  shoulders.  "  O,  dear  !  What  horrid,  horrid 
creatures  to  think  of !  " 

"  Ah,  hut  you  should  see  a  nice  full-grown  one  with 
your  own  eyes,  Mrs.  Bucclebee  —  say  one  that  is  thirty  or 
forty  feet  long " 

"  O,  horrible  !  " 

"  —  Coiling  up  around  the  stem  of  a  huge  tree,  and 
laying  his  head  and  neck  just  over  the  lowest  branch, 
merely  to  signify  to  stragglers  and  travellers  that  he  is 
quite  ready  to  receive  company.  Those  are  the  serpents 
for  you  !  None  of  these  little  span-long  water  snakes,  that 
can  curl  all  up  like  a  horse  hair  in  a  tumbler  of  water ; 
but  a  genuine,  out-and-out  serpent,  tawny  and  spotted, 
bright  with  yellow  and  gold,  with  a  tongue  that  plays  in 
and  out  of  its  mouth  like  a  forked  flame." 

"  O,  don't —  don't,  Mr.  Clendenning,  I  beg  of  you.  It 
makes  me  crawl  to  think  of  them.  Ugh  ! " 

Olive  was  regarding  the  gentleman  with  a  very  candid, 
?f  not  credulous  expression ;  and  when  her  aunt  betrayed 
her  terror  and  disgust  by  these  exclamations,  she  laughed 
outright  in  a  ringing  voice,  as  if  it  afforded  her  hearty 
enjoyment.  And  the  more  her  aunt  shrugged  her  shoul 
ders,  the  louder  she  kept  laughing  ;  till  at  last  the  'tears 
came  into  her  eyes,  and  she  stopped  to  wipe  them  away. 


A    NEW    COMER.  273 

Amy  looked  up  at  her,  to  understand  what  amused  her 
so  excessively ;  and  naturally  enough  she  glanced  both  at 
Mrs.  Bucclebee  and  at  the  visitor. 

Those  eyes  —  they  were  upon  her  still !  She  could  not 
help  thinking  of  the  eyes  of  the  very  serpent  he  had  been 
describing. 

Perceiving  her  embarrassment,  he  instantly  offered  to 
retrieve  the  mischief. 

"  Have  you  been  long  in  this  place,  Miss  Lee  ? "  he 
asked  her. 

"  No,  sir,"  she  answered ;  "  I  am  hardly  better  than  a 
stranger  here,  I  tell  them." 

"  Something  like  myself,  then  —  ha,  ha ! " 

"  She's  been  here  only  a  part  of  a  year,"  interposed 
Mrs.  Bucclebee,  very  patronizingly.  "  Miss  Lee  teaches 
our  little  village  school,  I  suppose  you  know." 

Amy  could  not  fail  to  observe  the  tone  in  which  this 
was  spoken. 

"  Yes,  I  have  heard  so,"  returned  Mr.  Clendenning,  ele 
vating  his  head  somewhat,  and  facing  round  as  if  he  were 
about  to  open  a  direct  conversation  with  Amy. 

Mrs.  Bucclebee,  however,  was  watchful,  and  meant  to 
allow  no  such  opportunities  for  social  intercourse. 

"  Did  you  find  all  your  friends  in  Boston  well,  when 
you  arrived  ?  "  she  interrupted. 

"  0,  yes,  ma'am  —  yes,  ma'am,"  he  carelessly  answered, 
slowly  turning  about  again. 

"  All  glad  to  see  you  again,  of  course." 

~  V..-;-    -r     ' 


274  AMY   LIE. 

"  Ah,  well ;  but  if  a  person  is  desirous  of  knowing 
whether  he  has  any  friends  or  not,  he  ought  certainly  to 
go  ou*  of  the  country  for  a  few  years,  as  I  have  d:ne. 
One  can  pretty  soon  tell  when  he  gets  back  again." 

And  in  such  a  strain  of  general  talk  the  planning  aunt 
kept  the  visitor  well  occupied.  If  he  had  any  thing  to 
say  to  Olive,  Mrs.  Bucclebee  was  right  at  hand  to  help  add 
to  the  interest ;  if  any  thing  in  turn  to  Amy,  that  lady 
was  no  less  alert  in  directing  his  attention  in  quite  another 
way.  No  such  flimsy  subterfuges  could  deceive  one  as 
acute  as  Amy  was,  and  she  understood  the  whole  matter 
at  a  glance.  Yet  it  subjected  her  to  no  sort  of  perplexity. 
If  Mrs.  Bucclebee  chose  to  make  herself  uneasy  on  her 
account,  she  was  quite  at  liberty  to  do  so.  The  enjoyment 
of  it  would  fall  on  no  shoulders  but  her  own. 

Tea  was  announced,  and  they  all  walked  out.  Mr. 
Clendenning  was  particularly  polite  to  Amy,  both  in  get 
ting  to  the  table  and  while  the  meal  was  being  served. 
Olive  very  generously  was  seating  Amy  next  her  friend ; 
but  Mrs.  Bucclebee  corrected  her  arrangement  with  the 
help  of  a  dark  frown,  and  motioned  to  Amy  that  Olive 
didn't  seem  to  understand,  that  there  was  her  seat,  "  if  you 
please,"  on  the  .opposite  side,  to  Mr.  Clendenning.  The 
latter  certainly  could  not  have  desired  any  thing  better  ; 
for  now  he  had  an  excellent  opportunity  to  look  Amy  ex 
actly  in  the  face.  Amy  saw  the  uneasiness  of  Mrs.  Buc 
clebee,  and  from  her  heart  pitied  her.  Why  should  she  be 
the  slightest  obstacle  to  any  of  that  lady's  designs  ? 


A   NEW    COMEB.  275 

When  they  rose  "rom  the  table,  they  strolled  at  their 
leisure  through  th3  little  rooms,  examining  the  pictures, 
the  books,  and  the  plants  ^that  stood  shelved  in  the  con 
servatory  ;  but  at  no  moment  did  Mrs.  Bucclebee  surren 
der  her  place  at  her  visitor's  side,  and  not  once  did  she 
suffer  him  to  engage  in  a  protracted  conversation  with 
Amy. 

But  as  soon  as  the  latter  began  to  speak  of  returning 
home,  —  which  Mrs.  Bucclebee  had  for  a  long  time  been 
secretly  wishing  in  her  heart  she  would  do,  —  Mr.  Clen- 
denning  rose  to  volunteer  his  escort.  Amy  thanked  him 
politely,  and  said  she  should  not  be  afraid  of  going  alone ; 
she  had  done  so  a  great  many  times.  But  he  insisted,  and 
moved  to  get  his  coat  and  hat.  Mrs.  Bucclebee  was  puz 
zled  and  perplexed.  Still  she  could  not  well  say  any  thing, 
for  the  motive  might  be  too  transparent.  It  was  excellent 
discipline  for  her. 

Mr.  Clendenning,  therefore,  did  wait  upon  Amy  home ; 
and  the  interval  of  his  absence  was  duly  improved  by  the 
aunt  in  instructing  her  wayward  niece  how  to  manage 
things  more  shrewdly  for  the  future. 


CHAPTER     XXV. 
QUITE  A  SURPRISE. 

THE  stranger  remained  at  Mrs.  Bucclebee's  during  the 
greater  part  of  the  next  week,  occupying  himself  with  his 
friends  at  Ivy  Lodge.  Yet  not  altogether  there,  either  ; 
for  every  afternoon,  at  about  the  time  Amy  dismissed  her 
school,  he  and  Olive  either  called  at  Mrs.  Gummel's  to  see 
her,  or  else  went  directly  to  the  school  house  and  walked 
from  there  home  with  her. 

It  was  not  to  be  disguised  that  he  was  excessively  cap 
tivated  with  Amy,  and  that  he  had  been  from  the  first. 
Olive  confessed  about  the  whole  truth  when  she  told  Amy, 
in  her  frolicking  style,  that  he  was  really  "  in  love  with 
her ; "  and  were  it  possible  to  suppose  that  Olive's  heart 
had  as  yet  been  touched  in  this  matter,  the  conclusion 
would  be  allowable  that  she  would  not  have  still  continued 
to  seek  Amy's  society  so  much,  while  she  could  have  his. 
I  believe  that  is  a  general  law  in  these  delicate  affairs. 
Each  being  nothing  less  than  "  all  the  world  "  to  the  other, 
there  is  no  need,  and  still  less  disposition,  to  go  in  search  of 
sources  of  happiness  outside  their  own  enchanting  realms. 

But  Amy  made  no  sort  of  advances  on  her  part.  She 

(276) 


QITITE   A   STTBPHISE.  277 

was  aware  that  the  understanding  was,  that  Olive  was  to 
be  the  stranger's  wife ;  whether  such  a  promise  had  been 
seriously  and  sacredly  imvle  by  her  she  knew  not,  but  she 
was  not  forgetful  of  their  mutual  relation  to  one  another. 
For  her,  therefore,  to  step  in  between  —  but  it  is  foolish 
to  speak  of  such  a  thing  —  Amy  Lee  was  the  last  one  to 
be  suspected  of  it.  Besides,  she  lacked  all  motive  to  do 
so.  The  stranger  was  too  much  blinded  by  his  own  eager 
ness  to  see  that  his  advances  were  never  met  by  her.  Still 
he  persisted  in  his  purposes,  whatever  they  were,  and  suf 
fered  himself  to  be  deceived  by  his  own  false  dream.  Amy 
herself  could  be  supposed  to  know  nothing  of  his  secret 
feelings,  and  her  speech  and  manners  were  altogether  as 
free,  and  flowing,  and  full  of  love  as  they  ever  were. 

It  was  getting  to  be  late  in  the  week  again,  and  the 
weather  was  still  cold  and  uncomfortable.  Amy  always 
kept  her  school  room  warm,  and  there  she  bade  defiance 
to  the  frost  and  the  shivers.  She  would  have  good  fires, 
and  the  children  all  enjoyed  them.  And  after  she  dis 
missed  them  for  the  day,  it  was  her  custom  often  to  sit 
alone  over  the  glowing  bed  of  coals,  and  give  herself  to 
the  thoughts  that  silently  set  about  her.  For  the  last 
week  the  regular  visits  of  Olive  and  her  friend  had  inter 
rupted  her,  or  rather  had  compelled  her  to  shorten  these 
moments  of  pleasant  musing.  But  on  this  particular  night, 
after  sitting  longer  than  usual,  she  discovered  that  they 
did  not  come.  So  she  gave  over  expecting  them,  and  soon 
relapsed  into  a  state  that  bordered  very  closely  on  dream- 
24 


278  AM*  LEE* 

land.  It  was  a  quiet  hour  and  a  quiet  place.  No  place 
hardly  can  be  more  silent  than  a  deserted  old  .country 
school  room  at  the  close  of  a  winter's  day.  The  shadows 
were  thickening,  and  threw  their  first  duskiness  through 
the  windows.  Still  she  sat  silent  over  the  coals,  and  en 
joyed  the  solitude. 

She  heard  .no  noise  whatever,  till  the  door  suddenly 
opened.  It  startled  her  so  much  that  she  almost  stood 
upright,  Her  back  happened  to  be  towards  the  door,  and 
she  could  not  see  who  the  intrudei  was  without  first  turn 
ing  around.  It  was  Mr.  Clendenning. 

"Ah!  good  evening,  Miss  Amy,"  said  he,  shutting 
the  door  very  deliberately,  and  advancing  to  the  open  stove. 
"  You're  all  alone  here  —  aren't  you  ? " 

'*  But  where  is  Olive  ?  "  she  asked,  her  heart  not  alto 
gether  at  rest,  in  the  face  of  this  unexpected  call. 

"  Olive  !  "  said  he,  affecting  much  carelessness  ;  "  she's 
at  home,  I  suppose,  over  at  what  they  call  '  Ivy  Lodge  * 
—  ha,  ha  !  At  least,  I  left  her  there,  and  not  many  min 
utes  ago." 

And  he  drew  up  the  end  of  a  bench  to  the  fire,  and  sat 
down  without  any  sort  of  further  ceremony. 

"  Why  didn't  she  come  too  ?  "  inquired  Amy. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  in  an  easy  tone,  "  she  thought  she  had 
too  much  to  do,  to  come  out  with  me  to-night  —  one  thing 
and  another ;  I  don't  know  what.  Besides,  I  told  her  I 
was  only  going  a  short  distance,  by  way  of  a  little  exercise, 
you  know.  She  didn't  mistrust  that  I  was  coming  over 
to  see  you,  I  reckon !  " 


QtTITE   A    SURPRISE.  279 

Amy  was  astonished.  She  could  not  in  the  moment 
gather  together  her  thoughts  sufficiently  to  make  him  a- 
suitable  reply.  He  saw  her  revulsion  of  feeling,  and  has 
tened  to  set  matters  right  again  as  fast  as  he  could. 

"  Olive  is  good  company,"  said  he,  as  if  to  lead  Amy 
away  into  a  criticism  of  her  friend.  "  I  must  confess  I 
rather  like  Olive.  She's  a  good  girl,  and  knows  how  to 
make  herself  agreeable,  when  it's  necessary." 

Still  Amy  was  dumb  with  amazement. 

"  I  declare,  Miss  Lee,"  he  went  on,  with  a  gesture  of 
impatience,  "  this  must  be  an  awful  dull  place  for  any  one 
like  you.  What  makes  you  stay  here  ?  " 

Amy  could  not  say  any  thing  yet. 

"  When  I  first  came  into  the  village  I  began  to  wonder 
how  human  beings  could  possibly  live  here  ;  I  do  wonder 
how  a  person  like  you  can,  Miss  Lee  —  I  declare  I  do." 

"  Why  so  ?  "  she  asked. 

"O,  because  —  I  do ;  I  wonder  what  there  is  to  take  up 
your  time" 

"  My  duties  do  that,"  said  she. 

"  Ah  !  But  in  Olive's  case  it  seems  to  be  quite  another 
thing.  She's  quite  a  different  person  from  you,  I  think  ; 
any  body  would  see  that." 

Amy  wondered  what  this  kind  of  talk  meant.  It  sounded 
still  worse  to  her  from  her  being  acquainted  with  the  secret 
relations  between  hei  friend  Olive  and  him.  She  could 
only  reply  to  his  remarks  in  a  general  way. 

"  I'm  sure,"  said  she,  "  I  do  not  see  why  /  should  be 


280  AMY   LEE. 

less  easily  pleased  here  than  Olive."  And  she  looked  up 
in  his  face  for  an  explanation. 

He  was  hardly  disposed  to  carry  that  particular  matter 
any  farther,  however.  So  he  began  on  another. 

"  Does  your  little  school  here  give  you  any  thing  like  a 
support  ?  "  he  asked.  "  I  really  don't  see  how  you  can 
live  off  of  it." 

"  O,  yes,  sir ;  it  yields  me  a  very  handsome  little  rev 
enue  ;  quite  all  I  need,  I  am  sure." 

"  Well,  some  people  say;  I  know,  that  a  body  don't 
want  any  thing  more  than  he  needs ;  but  I  am  not  quite 
prepared  to  fall  in  with  them.  You  don't  mean  to  say, 
Miss  Lee,  that  you  wouldn't  be  rich  if  you  could  as  well 
as  not,  do  you  ?  " 

She  felt  that  his  eyes  were  searching  her  flushed  face, 
every  moment ;  and  she  hardly  knew,  in  her  unhappy  em 
barrassment,  what  it  was  best  to  do. 

"  There  is  no  wealth  like  that  of  a  true  heart,"  she  an 
swered,  so  calmly  as  to  be  astonished  even  with  herself. 

"  Certainly  —  most  certainly  !  I  perfectly  agree  with 
you  there.  There  is  no  wealth  like  that  of  the  heart  — 
every  body  that  has  a  heart  will  tell  you  that.  I  must  say 
I  admire  one  whose  nature  is  rich  and  poetic  as  much  as 
any  man  can ;  and  where  such  a  nature  is  to  be  found  in  a 
woman,  what  is  it  to  be  wondered  at  if  the  world  fairly 
runs  mad  after  her  ?  " 

-  There  was  a  pause.  Amy's  eyes  were  in  the  fire.  His 
were  on  her  face.  It  was  a  moment  of  the  most  trying 
embarrassment  to  her. 


QTTITE   A   STJBPBISE.  281 

Yet  he  was  perfectly  collected  and  cool.  No  one  would 
have  supposed  that  he  was  in  the  least  degree  interested 
in  such  sentiments  as  he  had  just  expressed,  for  he  uttered 
them  exactly  as  he  wou.d  have  read  aloud  the  manifest  of 
a  ship,  or  called  off  the  items  in  a  cargo  of  South  Ameri 
can  hides.  His  coolness  piqued  Amy,  and  might  offend 
her.  It  was  patronizing,  with  an  air  of  impertinence, 
boastful,  and  altogether  presumptuous. 

Finally  he  began  again  and  in  a  new  place  :  — 

'*  Miss  Lee,  I  suppose  you  are  not  so  perfectly  well  sat 
isfied  with  your  present  situation  as  to  refuse  a  good  op 
portunity  of  changing  it  ?  " 

She  looked  up  at  him. 

"  I  don't  quite  understand  you,  sir,"  said  she,  in  a  tone 
of  inquiry,  yet  with  perfect  firmness. 

"  Why,  suppose  you  had  an  offer  of  a  better  place,  I 
mean  —  that's  all !  Wouldn't  you  accept  it  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  I  am  quite  satisfied  where  I  am,  I  think.  But 
I  should  first  wish  to  be  satisfied  if  the  change  would  be 
for  the  better." 

"  Well,  now,  see  here,"  said  he,  leaning  forward  a  very 
little,  as  if  desirous  of  being  confidential.  "  A  person 
like  you,  Miss  Lee,  can't  certainly  feel  altogether  resigned 
to  follow  so  humble  an  occupation  as  that  of  a  village 
school  teacher  all  her  days." 

"  I  am  very  happy,"  interrupted  Amy,  "  whenever  I  am 
discharging  my  own  duties,  and  making  others  around  me 
happy  too." 

24* 


282  AMY    LEE. 

"  All  that's  well  enough,  I  dare  say ;  I  won't  pretend 
to  dispute  it.  But  I  shouldn't  conceive  that  my  duties  lay 
in  a  place  like  this  little  village,  if  I  were  you." 

"  I  am  satisfied  that  at  least  for  the  present  they  do," 
she  answered. 

"  But  you  won't  pretend  to  say  you  wouldn't  take  a 
wider  field,  if  you  could  1  " 

"  No ;  I  say  nothing  about  it,  sir.  I  aim  to  live  a 
whole  life  in  each  day,  let  me  be  placed  any  where.  I 
would  make  that. life  sweet  and  full  of  poetry ;  for  there  is 
a  poetry  in  the  very  humblest  and  simplest  of  things." 

"  True  —  true,  I  dare  say ;  only  I  don't  imagine  I  know 
as  much  about  such  things  as  you  do.  But  what  I  was 
coming  at  was  this :  I  shall  be  very  candid,  as  you  will 
see ;  and  you  will  allow  me  to  get  at  the  matter  in  my 
usual  business  way." 

Amy's  face  burned  redly.  She  could  feel  the  flush  all 
over  her  forehead,  and  her  ears  fairly  tingled  with  the  un 
comfortable  sensation  of  heat.  She  knew  now  what  he 
was  about  to  say.  If  words  would  only  have  come,  she 
would  have  spoken.  But  she  was  dumb. 

"  Of  course,"  he  continued,  in  the  same  careless  and 
almost  unfeeling  way,  "  of  course  you  wouldn't  hesitate  a 
moment  to  change  your  situation  in  life,  if  you  had  a  good 
opportunity." 

"  I  do  not  understand  why  you  feel  so  positive  about 
it,"  she  interrupted. 

"Well,  now,"  he  added,  not  seeming  to  heed  the  inter- 


QUITE  A   SUBPBISE.  283 

ruption,  "  I  have  an  offer  to  make  you.  You  should  know, 
in  the  first  place,  Miss  Lee,  that  I  have  been  a  great  admirer 
of  yours  from  the  beginning.  When  I  first  saw  you  at 
Olive's,  I  fell  dead  in  love  with  you ;  and  that  is  all  I  can 
say  about  it.  I  inquired  more  particularly  about  you. 
They  told  me  you  merely  taught  this  little  village  school ; 
and  I  was  astonished,  I  must  confess ;  a  girl  like  you,  Miss 
Lee,  tied  down  to  a  wretched  little  brown  country  school 
house  like  this !  " 

She  was  about  to  say  something  in  reply,  but  he  would 
not  wait  to  listen,  and  went  on. 

"  They  said,  too,  that  you  were  poor.  Now,  though  I 
confess  that  poverty  is  no  crime,  somebody  has  well  said 
it  was  exceedingly  uncomfortable.  So  I  conclude  your  ex 
perience  tells  you,  too." 

Again  she  would  have  answered  him,  but  he  continued. 

"  Now  I  am  come  here  to-night,  Miss  Lee,  to  offer  to 
take  you  right  out  of  this  unfortunate  situation.  I  think 
you  will  acknowledge  my  disinterestedness  and  my  gen 
erosity.  I  am  here  this  moment,  then,  to  ask  you  to  be 
my  wife.  Just  consider  what  a  great  change  this  will  be 
for  you.  Here  I  am  with  just  as  much  money  at  my  com 
mand  as  I  want,  and  even  more  than  I  really  need  for  all 
my  pleasures  ;  and  here  you  are,  a  beautiful  and  accom 
plished  woman,  but  poor  and  friendless.  Now,  in  becom 
ing  my  wife,  I  make  you  the  sole  mistress  of  an  elegant 
establishment  at  once.  You  possess  all  the  grace,  the 
refinement,  and  the  dignity  to  be  at  the  head  of  a  gentle- 


284  AMY   LEE. 

man's  household,  and  would  fill  such  a  position  —  allow  me 
to  say  —  superbly.  I  have  no  doubt  of  that  whatever.  I 
shall  very  soon  set  up  my  own  establishment,  and  I  want 
a  wife.  I  have  come  to  make  you  the  offer  of  mistress  of 
such  a  place." 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  impel tinence  of  the  man. 
Yet  he  did  not  seem  to  be  aware  of  any  thing  like  indeli 
cacy  or  impropriety.  He  lacked  heart  altogether. 

"  I  really  must  thank  you,  sir,"  Amy  replied,  in  a  very 
firm  and  decided  way,  "  for  your  expressions  of  admiration 
for  me,  but  must  acknowledge  that  they  are  of  trifling 
worth,  after  all.  As  for  your  application  to  me  to  be  your 
housekeeper,  I  think  I  must  decline  the  proposal.  You 
could  hire  you  such  a  person  as  you  want  on  much  more 
reasonable  terms." 

She  was  cutting,  and  he  felt  it. 

"  No,  no  ;  you  don't  understand  me,  I  think.  I  wanted 
you  to  be  not  only  my  housekeeper,  but  my  wife." 

"  I  perceive  that  I  did  understand  you,  sir,  and  I  would 
have  been  inexcusably  dull  not  to  have  done  so.  I  repeat 
—  I  must  decline  your  offer  to  make  me  your  housekeeper. 
I  prefer  the  pursuit  of  my  present  calling.  It  cannot  be 
near  as  burdensome  to  me,  and  I  feel  confident  that  the 
situation  under  you  would  never  yield  me  any  thing  like 
as  much  happiness." 

Mr.  Clendenning  was  not  only  wounded  by  what  she 
answered  in  his  pride,  of  which  he  had  a  large  share,  but 
he  likewise  felt  considerably  irritated.  It  required  all 


QUITE   A   STTBPEISE.  285 

his  self-control  to  keep  him  from  uttering  a  really  rude 
reply. 

"  But  then,"  said  he,  patronizingly,  "  see  the  great 
change  in  your  circumstances." 

"  I  am  not  so  eager  at  the  present  time  to  make  any 
change  in  them." 

"  That  indeed ;  but  you  don't  know  how  soon  you 
may  be." 

"  I  am  certain  that  I  shall  never  seek  or  consent  to  any 
such  change  as  you  have  proposed,"  she  replied. 

It  was  evident  to  her  that  his  self-esteem  and  imperti 
nence  needed  correction ;  hence  the  sharpness  of  her  last 
remark.  But  instead  of  having  the  desired  effect,  it  seemed 
rather  to  excite  his  temper.  As  far  as  he  dared  show  it, 
therefore,  he  did. 

"  Young  ladies  in  your  situation,  Miss  Lee,"  he  said, 
"  are  not  very  apt  to  refuse  good  offers  of  marriage." 

"  I  am  not  a  candidate  for  matrimony,  that  I  know  of," 
she  replied ;  "  and  if  I  were  I  certainly  should  not  step 
in  between  my  dearest  friend  and  her  betrothed  husband. 
That  would  be  more  heartless  than  I  feel  myself  capable 
of  being." 

*'  Then  you  seem  to  think  Olive  and  I  are  already  en 
gaged  to  be  married,"  he  said,  in  affected  surprise. 

"  I  have  the  best  reason  to  think  so." 

"  Well^  let  me  tell  you,  then,  that  nothing  in  the  world 
can  be  farther  from  the  truth.  That's  not  so,  not  a  single 
syllable  of  it.  Now,  where  could  such  a  foolish  story  as 
that  have  started  ?  " 


286  AMY   LEE. 

She  made  no  answer,  willing  to  let  his  own  thoughts 
answer  him.  They  would  do  it  the  best. 

He  stopped  and  reflected.  One  recollection  after  another 
seemed  to  rise  in  his  mind,  each  driving  the  other  rapidly 
across  the  plane  of  his  thoughts.  Now  he  looked  puzzled 
and  perplexed.  Again  his  face  flushed,  and  he  showed 
every  symptom  of  anger.  Now  he  seemed  to  wish  that  he 
could  step  out  of  this  little  village  with  a  single  stride, 
turning  his  back  upon  it  forever. 

And  finally  he  did  get  up  from  the  bench  on  which  he 
had  been  sitting,  and  wishing  Amy  a  very  hasty  "  good 
evening,"  took  two  or  three  quite  long  steps  towards  the 
door.  As  soon  as  he  was  gone,  so  violent  and  sudden  was 
the  reaction  in  Amy's  feelings,  she  buried  her  face  in  her 
hands  and  burst  forth  in  a  flood  of  hot  tears.  The  sur 
prise  of  his  visit,  the  totally  unexpected  nature  of  his 
conversation,  the  impertinent  manner  of  his  proposals, 
were  all  quite  too  much,  and  for  a  time  her  nervous  system 
suffered  severely  from  the  shock.  When  she  recovered 
her  usual  calmness  it  was  already  dark,  and  she  walked 
home  alone  and  thoughtful.  She  refused  to  eat  any  sup 
per,  and  shut  herself  up  in  her  room  for  the  rest  of  the 
night,  away  from  every  one. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 
MRS.  BUCCLEBEE'S  INFLUENCE. 

SHE  had  an  influence ;  and  she  was  not  the  woman  to 
decline  exerting  it. 

But  let  me  allow  my  narrative  to  take  its  own  natural 
course. 

Mr.  Clendenning  took  his  departure  from  her  house  and 
from  Valley  Village  the  very  next  day.  He  was  quite  abrupt 
in  his  leaves-taking,  and  excused  himself  by  saying  that  he 
had  forgotten  the  transaction  of  business  of  large  impor 
tance.  So  he  went  away,  amid  the  multiplied  and  earnest 
requests  of  Olive's  aunt  that  he  would  visit  them  again 
very  soon,  and  that  the  next  time  he  would  tarry  longer. 

For  many  weeks  nothing  was  heard  from  him.  Mrs. 
'Bucclebee  was  getting  uneasy,  and  showed  the  irritated 
state  of  her  feelings  continually.  Amy  was  still  a  con 
stant  visitor  at  Ivy  Lodge  in  the  interval  ;  but  of  their 
late  company  she  said  little  as  yet  to  Olive.  She  hardly 
knew,  after  all,  what  might  be  their  exact  relations  to  one 
another ;  and  she  did  not  wish  to  enter  upon  a  narration 
to  her  of  this  late  conference  with  Mr.  Clendenning. 

But  as  the  weeks  went  away,  Mrs.  Bucciebee's  eyes 

(287) 


288  AMY   LEE. 

began  to  open.  She  gave  play  to  her  suspicions.  One 
little  circumstance  after  another  offered  itself  to  her  mind ; 
and  she  was  exercising  her  ingenuity  to  the  utmost  to 
construct  a  plain  case  out  of  them  all  against  —  whom  do 
you  think,  dear  reader,  but  Amy  ? 

This,  at  least,  was  certain  —  since  the  stranger  saw  Amy 
he  had  showed  less  attention  to  Olive.  This  was  quite 
enough  to  begin  upon.  Of  course  Amy  must  have  allured 
him  away.  That  was  the  next  step.  Then  what  a  heart 
less,  false,  and  entirely  unworthy  creature  Amy  must  be 
thus  to  deceive  her  best  friend,  and  all  the  while  under  the 
profession  only  of  friendship  !  That  was  a  natural  thought 
enough,  too.  Next,  if  Amy  was  in  the  habit  of  abusing 
the  confidence  of  a  friend  in  this  cruel  way,  who  could 
tell  to  what  extent  she  would  abuse  the  confidence  of  the 
whole  community,  and  in  matters  of  not  half  the  sacred- 
ness  that  belongs  to  friendship  ? 

Thus  was  Mrs.  Bucclebee  industriously  making  out  a 
case  against  the  innocent  girl,  and  daily  and  hourly  for 
ging  chains  for  her  future  freedom  and  happiness  in  that 
vicinity.  If  she  could  only  have  looked  into  the  heart 
that  she  so  utterly  hated,  what  a  reign  of  far  different  feel 
ings  she  would  have  beheld  !  Amy  was  perfectly  at  peace 
with  herself,  being  innocent  of  any  wrong ;  and  however 
much  she  desired  to  enlighten  Olive  on  the  subject  of  her 
late  visitor's  character,  prudence  and  delicacy  combined  to 
forbid  her  opening  her  lips  concerning  him  for  the  present. 

Finally,  Mrs.  Bucclebee  talked  with  Olive  about  the 


MRS.  BUCCLEBEE'S  INFLUENCE.  289 

affair  herself.  She  wanted  to  get  at  the  heart  of  this 
strange  mystery  as  soon  as  she  could.  She  inquired  to 
know  if  she  had  been  cognizant  of  any  particular  intimacy 
between  Amy  and  her  visitor,  and  if  she  had  been  led  to 
suspect  that  he  had  any  attachment  for  her.  Olive  could 
only  blush  at  hearing  such  questions  put  her,  and  answer 
them  in  the  most  general  and  unsatisfactory  way. 

But  her  aunt's  suspicions  increased  and  multiplied. 
The  thought  that  that  poor  schoolmistress,  as  she  con 
temptuously  styled  her,  should  come  under  her  very  roof, 
and  there  undo  in  a  day  the  plans  which  she  had  been 
carefully  perfecting  for  years,  served  to  irritate  a  person 
of  Mrs.  Bucclebee's  temper  beyond  description ;  and  the 
necessity  that  she  labored  under  of  keeping  this  anger  of 
her  heart  almost  entirely  to  herself  in  no  wise  helped  calm 
her  inward  agitation. 

She  came  to  understand,  at  length,  that  Mr.  Clenden- 
ning  had  deserted  her  and  Olive  altogether.  It  was  a  fact, 
and  she  could  not  wipe  it  out  of  her  consciousness.  It 
not  only  irritated,  but  it  mortified  her.  The  fall  of  a 
pride  like  her  pride  was  a  highly  notable  occurrence.  All 
her  darling  plans  were  swept  away.  All  her  favorite 
projects  were  gone.  All  her  ambitious  hopes  were  frus 
trated.  And  only  one  person  could  be  the  author  of  this 
fearful  mischief,  and  that  person  must  be  Amy.  But  why 
Amy  ?  Was  it  because  he  at  this  time  visited  her,  or  cor 
responded  with  her,  or  betrayed  still  any  partiality  for  her  ? 
No,  perhaps  none  of  these  things ;  yet  she  was  no  less  the 
25 


290  AMY    LEE. 

author  of  the  trouble.  Even  if  she  cared  nothing  for  the 
wealthy  stranger  herself,  was  it  at  all  difficult  to  suppose 
that  she  might  be  moved  with  such  a  feeling  as  envy,  even 
if  her  deceitfulness  might  not  have  led  her  into  outright 
malice  ?  And  thus  unhappy  Mrs.  Bucclebee  reasoned  with 
herself  upon  the  matter;  and  in  this  same  temper  she 
talked  with  her  obedient  niece  about  it  from  day  to  day. 
And  Olive  wept,  while  her  aunt  became  more  and  more 
the  victim  of  her  own  miserable  passions. 

Amy  called  at  the  house  one  evening  after  school,  quite 
as  usual,  and  inquired  at  the  door  if  Olive  was  in.  The 
maid  servant  answered  that  she  believed  she  was,  and 
opened  the  door  wider  for  her  to  pass. 

But  Mrs.  Bucclebee  heard  the  inquiry  from  a  neighbor 
ing  room,  and  at  once  sprang  forward  to  the  entrance. 
Her  face  was  pale  with  rage,  and  her  manner  was  the 
frenzy  of  excitement. 

"  Olive  is  at  home,"  she  said  to  Amy,  in  a  very  quick, 
fierce  voice  ;  "  but  she  is  not  to  be  seen  to-night." 

"  Is  she  sick  ?  "  instantly  fell  from  the  old  friend's  lips. 

"  Sick  ?  No !  She's  well  enough.  But  she's  not  to 
be  seen,  I  tell  you.  If  you  don't  know  why,  perhaps 
after  a  time  you  will  be  in  the  way  of  finding  out." 

"  Why,  Mrs.  Bucclebee  ! "  Amy  exclaimed,  under  her 
breath.  "  What  does  this  mean  ?  " 

"  You  should  know,  miss,  if  any  lody  does.  But  I  wish 
you  to  understand  from  this  time  forth,  you  can't  see  Olive, 
and  it  will  be  useless  for  you  to  call.  I  wish  the  acquaint 
ance  dropped." 


MBS.  .  BUCCLEBEE'S  INFLUENCE.  291 

Amy  was  thunderstruck.  Of  this  possible  event  she 
had  had  not  the  slightest  warning.  She  felt  at  once  weak 
in  her  limbs,  and  she  did  not  know  but  she  must  fall  to 
the  floor. 

But  presently  she  gathered  her  strength  again,  and  put 
Mrs.  Bucclebee  one  more  question.  She  was  sick  at  heart, 
but  she  was  quite  calm. 

"  This  is  so  very  unexpected,"  said  she.  "  Won't  you 
be  kind  enough,  Mrs.  Bucclebee,  to  tell  me  what  the  rea 
son  is  for  this  step  ?  What  has  gone  wrong  ?  If  any 
fault  lies  with  me,  let  me  not  delay  to  atone  for  it  to  the 
very  utmost.  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  aZZ,  Mrs.  Buccle 
bee.  I  am  sure  no  one  could  grieve  more  over  such  an 
occurrence  as  this  than  myself." 

"No  —  no,"  the  aunt  unfeelingly  replied;  "if  your 
own  thoughts  don't  condemn  you,  nothing  would  that  J 
can  say.  Do  not  think  to  deceive  me  any  longer ;  you 
,  have  deceived  her,  and  cruelly  wronged  her.  Let  that  be 
enough.  Remember  that  henceforth  your  acquaintance 
with  her  ceases.  Good  evening." 

And  she  fairly  shut  the  door  in  the  poor  girl's  face. 

This  was  Mrs.  Bucclebee.  This  was  the  woman  of 
money.  This  was  the  heart  where  worldly  pride  and 
ambition  ruled,  and  all  the  passions  ran  riot  in  their 
power.  Only  look  at  the  wretchedness  of  such  a  charac 
ter.  Only  behold  the  misery,  and  deceit,  and  inward 
anguish  that  such  unholy  feelings  so  certainly  bring  forth. 

It  is  hardly  possible  to  describe  Amy's  situation ;  she 


292  AMY   LEE. 

knew  it  not  herself.  If  she  was  ever  thoroughly  wretched 
in  her  life,  she  felt  that  she  was  now.  Her  last  dear 
friend  thus  ruthlessly  torn  from  her,  she  herself  a  very 
outcast  from  that  dear  friend's  presence,  —  O,  it  seemed 
to  her  that  it  would  have  been  easier  to  have  Olive 
snatched  from  her  by  death,  than  in  this  rude  and  cruel 
way  to  feel  that  their  friendship  must  be  sundered. 

After  composing  herself  in  her  chamber  as  best  she  was 
able,  she  took  out  paper  and  ink,  and  resolved  to  address 
Olive  a  note  immediately.  If  Mrs.  Bucclebee  was  to  poi 
son  her  friend's  mind  against  her,  at  least  she  should  not 
do  it  without  a  protest.  The  note  ran  thus  :  — 

"  DEAE  OLIVE  :  I  do  not  know  what  to  think  or  what 
to  say.  My  heart  is  overwhelmed  with  grief.  I  am  ac 
cused  of  doing  you  a  great  wrong,  of  deceiving  you,  of 
even  treating  you  cruelly  ;  and  yet  I  know  not  in  what 
way.  O,  will  you  enlighten  me  ?  Will  you  immediately 
recount  every  one  of  my  wicked  acts,,  that  I  may  hasten  to 
atone  for  them  all  ? 

"  Your  aunt  has  forbidden  our  further  acquaintance.  I 
shall  be  so  sorry  for  it,  and  yet  I  cannot  help  it !  What 
shall  I  do  ?  What  can  I  do  ?  O,  if  you  will  but  tell  me 
what  I  have  done.  She  will  tell  me  nothing ;  only  she 
says  I  have  wronged  you  and  deceived  you.  But  how?  — 
when  ?  Pray,  tell  me  the  whole,  for  I  am  suffering  more 
than  you  know. 

"If  all  this  has  any  thing  to  do  with  Mr.  Clendenning, 


MRS.  BUCCLEBEE'S  INFLUENCE.  293 

—  and  I  cannot  think  of  any  other  cause  of  trouble  to  her 
thoughts,  —  I  beg  you  to  set  your  heart  at  rest.  I  have 
done  you  no  wrong  there,  though  I  have  long  wanted  to 
tell  you  what  I  now  do.  He  came  when  I  was  alone  in 
the  school  room,  one  night,  and  asked  me  to  be  his  wife ; 
and  as  soon  as  I  could  recover  from  my  astonishment,  I 
rebuked  him  for  his  conduct,  and  told  him  of  his  relation 
to  you.  He  denied  any  such  relation,  and  left  me  in  rage. 
Since  then  I  have  neither  seen  him  nor  heard  from  him. 
Can  it  be  this  that  has  caused  such  a  change  in  your  aunt's 
feelings  ? 

"  I  beg  you  to  come  to  me  or  write  to  me  at  once,  and 
relieve  the  great  anxiety  of 

"  Your  ever  dear  friend, 

"  AMY." 

Little  sleep  did  she  get  that  night,  for  her  great  trouble. 
No  one  could  share  it  with  her.  It  must  all  fall  on  her 
single  heart. 

Early  the  next  forenoon  she  despatched  the  note  by  one 
of  her  scholars  to  Ivy  Lodge,  directing  her  to  leave  it 
there  and  return  without  delay.  The  errand  was  properly 
performed ;  but  as  soon  as  Amy  reached  home  at  noon 
again,  Mrs.  Gummel  handed  her  a  little  package,  which 
she  told  her  Mrs.  Bucclebee's  man  had  brought.  Amy 
took  the  missive  with  a  trembling  hand,  and  hurried  away 
to  her  chamber. 

With  many  misgivings  she  unfolded  the  bit  of  newspa- 
25* 


294  AMY   LEE. 

per  that  enclosed  the  expected  note,  and  threw  it  hastily 
beside  her.  Then  turning  over  the  letter  to  read  its  su 
perscription,  she  found  it  was  her  own  — •  the  same  one  she 
had  sent  Olive  that  very  morning.  She  looked  at  the  seal 
—  it  had  not  been  broken. 

She  was  sick,  and  for  the  moment  quite  prostrated. 
She  knew  not  what  to  do ;  nay,  she  hardly  knew  where 
she  was.  The  room  went  round  and  round.  Her  brain 
reeled.-  Her  eyes  swam.  She  grew  blind,  and  staggered 
to  the  bed,  upon  which  she  threw  herself. 

This  was  certainly  the  sorest  trial  through  which  Amy 
had  been  called  to  pass.  She  knew  too  well  that  her 
name  and  character  were  in  Mrs.  Bucclebee's  mind  asso 
ciated  with  the  meanest  suspicions ;  and  she  had  no  assur 
ance  that  very  shortly  both  would  not  become  subjects  of 
public  vilification. 

Alas  !  it  was  even  so.  Not  many  weeks  afterwards  the 
reports  came  round,  as  such  things  always  do  manage  to 
fome,  to  the  ears  of  Amy  herself.  She  knew  that  the 
people  were  all  talking  about  her  —  not  to  her  praise,  but 
by  way  of  passing  cruel  and  uncharitable  judgments  upon 
her  conduct.  Now  hundreds  of  little  innocent  circum 
stances  came  out,  and  were  illuminated  by  altogether  dif 
ferent  motives  from  any  she  had  ever  entertained.  Her 
most  careless  acts  were  brought  up  to  the  standard  of  a 
new  interpretation.  Her  free,  childlike,  and  impulsive 
expressions  were  one  by  one  dragged  like  guilty  criminal* 
into  the  court  of  other  people's  prejudices,  and  througU 


MRS.  BUCCLEBEE'S  INFLUENCE.  295 

such  trifling  witnesses  as  these  she  was  on  almost  every 
side  condemned. 

Strange,  indeed,  is  the  change  that  a  malicious  word 
can  work.  Most  mysterious  is  the  black  magic  wrought 
by  envy,  by  hatred,  by  a  wounded  pride.  Why  is  it  that 
people  believe  the  worse  before  they  will  receive  the  bet 
ter  ?  Why  is  it  that  a  good  life  for  a  time  offers  no 
obstacle  to  the  wave  of  prejudice  and  passion,  that  will 
not  be  hindered  in  its  course  till  it  has  swept  over  the 
entire  character  ? 

Still  Amy's  faith  did  not  waver.  That  pure  flame  never 
flickered  in  the  least.  Her  supplications  were  every  day 
for  strength  and  inward  peace,  and  that  the  mouths  of 
calumniators  might  be  stopped.  She  went  about  her  du 
ties  at  the  school  room  with  the  same  alacrity  that  had 
hitherto  marked  her  discharge  of  them  —  slighting  not  the 
least  one  of  them  all  in  its  accustomed  round.  Her  coun 
tenance  was  always  cheerful,  and  as  contagious  as  ever 
with  its  sunshine.  She  attended  church  with  her  usual 
regularity,  and  tried  to  forget  that  the  looks  of  those  who 
once  called  themselves  friends  were  now  turned  suspi 
ciously  upon  her.  She  overlooked  the  affected  haughtiness 
and  contempt  of  Mrs.  Bucclebee,  whenever  they  happened 
to  meet  in  the  porch  or  at  the  door,  and  felt  a  real  pity 
for  one  who  could  do  such  a  great  wrong  to  her  own  hap 
piness.  She  was  certain,  indeed,  that  the  last  change  in 
the  world  she  would  consent  to  make,  would  be  a  change 
of  places  with  Mrs.  Bucclebee. 


296  AMY    LEE. 

The  winter  at  last  was  over.  Spring  was  come,  and 
would  ere  long  appear  by  its  many  lovely  tokens.  The 
school  had  been  falling  off  little  by  little ;  and  that  gen 
eral  interest  that  encouraged  her  so  much  at  first  was  sen 
sibly  waning  and  dying  out.  She  made  no  complaints  of 
it,  however ;  nor  did  she  cherish  any  unhappy  feelings. 
Unquestionably  the  people  of  the  village  had  a  perfect 
right  to  obey  even  their  own  whims,  or  their  prejudices, 
in  a  matter  like  this  ;  but  from  that  obedience  they  must 
hope  to  extract  their  enjoyment.  Mr.  Parsons  stood  by 
her  to  the  last.  That  shall  be  said  to  his  praise.  He  saw 
the  trouble,  and  took  every  delicate  means  to  hinder  its 
progress.  Still  he  never  openly  remarked  upon  it  to  Amy, 
nor  did  she  to  him. 

About  this  time,  too,  little  Dolly  stopped  coming  to 
school,  on  account  of  sickness.  To  tell  the  truth,  this  was 
now  a  source  of  greater  anxiety  to  Amy  than  any  troubles 
of  her  own.  Perhaps  it  was  a  kind  Providence  that  sought 
by  this  means  to  divert  her  from  too  long  considering  her 
own  sorrows ;  for  as  soon  as  she  became  aware  of  the  dear 
child's  sickness,  it  seemed  to  her  as*if  all  her  heart's  griefs 
were  instantly  healed.  She  had  now  a  new  object  on  which 
to  concentrate  her  excited  sympathies.  Day  after  day  she 
toiled  up  that  rugged  mountain's  side,  eager  to  minister 
continually  at  the  bedside  of  her  little  friend.  She  car 
ried  her  every  nicety  that  she  and  Mrs.  Gummel  together 
could  devise.  She  sat  by  her,  talking  cheerfully  and  en 
couragingly,  and  telling  her  how  soon  now  the  beautiful 


MKS.  BUCCLEBEE'S  INFLUENCE.  297 

spring  would  burst  upon  them,  when  they  would  once 
more  ramble  over  the  flowery  fields  together. 

At  last  the  school  term  closed.  Amy  said  nothing  of  a 
new  engagement  to  any  one,  and  nothing  was  said  to  her. 
It  was  enough  for  her  that  the  popular  feeling  had  set  in 
such  a  strong  current  against  her.  She  might  be  able  to 
stem  it  in  time,  but  the  motive  was  altogether  wanting. 
There  were  hardly  enough  pupils  in  at  the  close  of  the 
term  to  warrant  the  ceremony  of  the  usual  examination, 
and  so  it  was  dispensed  with.  She  felt  that  she  had  lost 
her  influence  for  usefulness  any  longer  there,  and  made  up 
her  mind  that  a  removal  would  very  soon  be  necessary. 
Many  are  the  hearts  that  would  have  been  troubled  griev 
ously  at  such  treatment  as  this ;  but  however  much  she 
may  have  regretted  the  unhappy  occurrence,  her  lofty  sense 
of  innocence  carried  her  through  without  murmuring.  If 
others  did  wrong,  it  was  not  a  wrong  done  her  ;  they  could 
injure  only  themselves.  They  could  take  nothing  from 
the  peace  that  she  enjoyed ;  they  robbed  no  hearts  save 
their  own. 

At  the  last  she  did  talk  the  matter  over  with  Mrs.  Gum- 
mel,  and  then  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Parsons ;  but  she  opened 
her  lips  concerning  it  to  no  other  human  being.  They 
admitted  with  sorrow  that  public  feeling  was  much  as  she 
described  it,  and  were  loath  to  agree  with  her  that  her 
usefulness  and  happiness  had  both  come  to  an  end  in  that 
place  —  at  least  for  a  time. 

But  Mrs.  Gummel  made  Amy  promise  to  stay  certainly, 


298  AMY   LEE. 

a  month  longer  with  her,  now  that  her  duties  at  the  school 
were  over,  and  during  that  period  to  remain  only  as  her 
guest.  There  were  several  reasons,  besides  Mrs.  Gummers 
friendship,  why  she  should  accept  the  proposal ;  and  she 
did  so  gratefully.  She  was  now  free  to  go  and  come  as 
she  chose,  and  was  glad  in  her  heart  to  remain  still  longer 
in  the  pleasant  country  to  welcome  in  the  spring. 


CHAPTER, XXVII. 
THE  PITCHER  AT  THE  FOUNTAIN. 

DOLLY  grew  worse.  She  was  suffering  from  a  compli 
cation  of  troubles  —  the  foundation  having  been  laid  by 
a  violent  cold  which  she  had  taken  during  the  winter. 

Being  quite  at  her  leisure,  Amy  had  a  great  deal  of 
time  to  devote  to  the  child.  She  went  over  as  soon  as  she 
could  in  the  morning,  carrying  what  comforts  she  was  able 
to  provide,  and  late  in  the  afternoon  she  left  her.  The 
most  of  the  time  she  was  at  the  bedside ;  but  she  was  con 
stantly  offering  to  be  of  service  to  the  anxious  mother,  and 
trying  to  assist  her  in  various  ways  about  her  domestic 
arrangements. 

While  sitting  one  afternoon  by  Dolly,  the  child  awoke 
very  unexpectedly,  and  began  talking  freely  with  her  kind 
friend.  Dolly  had  greatly  changed  in  her  appearance  since 
she  first  became  the  recipient  of  Amy's  partiality.  She 
was  now  more  refined  in  her  expressions,  and  had  learned 
more  graceful  manners.  Amy  saw  at  the  beginning  that 
all  this  was  in  her  nature,  but  it  was  overlaid  and  buried 
by  the  rubbish.  She  only  needed  better  influences,  and 
her  life  would  soon  become  as  sweet  as  her  own  childish 

(998) 


300  AMY   LEE. 

breath.  Such  influences  were  brought  to  bear  upon  her  ; 
and  she  was  now  the  object  equally  of  the  affection  and 
the  admiration  of  all  the  town. 

"  Miss  Amy,"  said  she,  looking  very  composedly  in  her 
friend's  face,  "  I  have  such  strange  dreams." 

"  You  shouldn't  give  /ourself  any  thought  about  your 
dreams,  dear  child,"  answered  Amy. 

"  But  how  can  I  help  it  ?  I  don't  believe  I  shall  ever 
get  well  now,  Miss  Amy. 

The  latter  looked  at  her  in  surprise.  "Why  do  you 
think  so  ?  "  she  calmly  asked  her. 

"  O,  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  ;  but  I  never  shall.  And 
what  will  become  of  my  dear  mother  when  I  am  gone  ? " 

The  child  threw  her  blue  eyes  up  at  the  rough  boards 
that  answered  for  the  ceiling  overhead,  and  Amy  saw  that 
tears  immediately  came  into  them.  The  sight  touched 
her  heart. 

"  I  wish  my  mother  was  more  like  you,  Miss  Amy,"  she 
continued.  She  don't  like  to  hear  me  talk  about  dying ; 
but  you  aren't  afraid  to  die  —  are  you,  Miss  Amy  ? " 

"  There  is  nothing  to  be  afraid  of,  dear  little  one.  We 
are  still  in  the  hands  of  the  same  loving  Father.  No,  I 
hope  I  am  not  afraid  of  death.  We  must  all  die  at  some 
time  ;  and  none  of  us  can  tell  when.  It  is  best  to  be  in 
a  state  of  mind  always  to  bear  so  great  a  change  with 
calmness." 

"I  know  mother  will  miss  me  so  much,  though.  I 
wonder  who  will  help  take  care  of  the  children  when  I 
am  gone." 


THE    PITCHER   AT    THE    FOUNTAIN.  301 

"Godwill  provide,"  said  Amy;  ?'heis  able  to  do  all 
things.  We  must  trust  in  him.  If  we  do  not  love  him 
as  we  should,  then  we  shall  always  be  murmuring  at  what 
he  does.  We  shouldn't  complain  at  the  prospect  of  death, 
my  child ;  for  we  know  that  through  death  we  enter  into 
a  far  better  life  than  this." 

For  a  few  moments  little  Dolly  was  thoughtful.  Her 
eyes  sought  the  face  of  her  friend,  and  went  over  it  in 
affectionate  search  again  and  again.  The  bedroom  was 
most  scantily  furnished,  and  the  out-door  air  was  not 
altogether  prevented  from  entering  at  the  cracks.  There 
was  only  a  small  strip  of  a  rag  carpet  before  the  little  bed, 
on  which  stood  both  Amy's  chair  and  the  plain  pine  stand 
of  cups  and  vials.  There  was  a  half  curtain  to  the  soli 
tary  window,  made  of  checked  stuff",  whose  original  colors 
had  long  ago  faded  out  of  sight. 

While  Amy  still  talked  with  her,  and  from  time  to  time 
read  most  comforting  and  inspiring  passages  to  her  out  of 
the  Bible,  the  door  opened  slowly,  and  she  heard  a  heavy 
tread  behind  her.  Looking  round,  she  saw  it  was  the 
sick  child's  father.  Since  her  illness,  it  was  touching  to 
behold  the  power  she  held  over  his  rugged  heart.  He 
seemed  now  more  a  child  than  herself.  He  would  weep 
at  the  slightest  cause,  and  his  countenance  expressed  a 
perpetual  sorrow.  He  came  into  Dolly's  room  now  very 
often,  and  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  .the  bed,  and  there 
looked  at  her  for  many  minutes  without  speaking.  And. 
lie  would  take  her  hand  in  his,  too,  and  with  the  other  toy 
26 


302  A.MT  LEE. 

affectionately  and  dotingly  with  her  long  and  beautiful 
locks  —  the  great  sorrow  pulling  grievously  at  his  heart 
strings  the  while. 

This  time,  after  first  accosting  Amy  in  a  remarkably 
kind  and  grateful  way  for  him,  he  took  his  usual  seat  on 
the  bedside,  and  placed  his  little  one's  hand  between  both 
his  own.  How  small  and  white  hers  looked  in  his  ! 

"  Do  yoi.  fee.  any  better,  sister  r  "  he  asked  her,  stoop 
ing  down  closer  and  studying  the  expression  of  her  eyes. 

"  O,  I  can't  tell,  father,"  she  answered  ;  "but  I  am  sure 
I  shan't  live  ;  I  know  I  shan't  live  !  You  mustn't  feel  so 
bad  about  it,  though.  I'm  not  afraid  to  die,  dear  father." 

He  could  not  answer  her.  The  tears  rushed  to  his  eyes, 
blinded  him,  and  rolled  slowly  down  his  rough  cheeks. 

"  O,  you  mustn't  cry  for  it,  father.  Kiss  me  now,  and 
let  me  see  that  you  love  me." 

"  I  do  love  you,  my  little  lainb,"  said  he  in  a  tremulous 
voice,  stooping  down  and  kissing  her. 

"  Now,  if  I  die,"  she  went  on  calmly,  "  there  will  be  no 
use  in  crying  —  will  there,  Miss  Amy?  Tears  won't  bring 
me  back,  dear  father.  But  if  you  love  God,  you  will  live 
with  me  again.  Do  try  and  love  God,  father." 

"  O,  I  know  I  am  wicked,  Dolly.  I  know  my  heart  ain't 
right  at  all.  I  feel  how  bad  I  am  every  day  of  my  life. 
But  I  can't  be  any  better.  How  can  I?  What  shall. I 
do  ?  I'm  nothing  tut  a  dreadful  poor  man,  with  all  these 
children  to  love,  though  I  can't  seem  to  do  nothing  for 
'em.  What  shall  I  do,  Dolly?  Can't  you  tell  your 
father,  now?" 


THE   PITCHER  AT   THE    TOTTNTAIN.  303 

"  You  must  pray,  dear  father.  I  say  my  prayers  every 
day ;  and  Miss  Amy  says  we  ought  to  pray  in  our  hearts 
every  hour.  I  love  to  pray ;  but  once  I  didn't  know  how. 
Miss  Amy  taught  me  ;  and  I  am  always  so  happy  for  it 
afterwards." 

There  was  a  pause.  Amy  could  distinctly  hear  the  deep 
and  unquiet  breathings  of  the  father,  who  still  sat  on  tho 
bed,  and  held  his  little  one's  hand. 

"  I  wish  I  knew  how  to  pray,"  said  he,  sorrowfully. 

"  Don't  you  ?  "  asked  Dolly.  "  Can't  you  say  what 
Jesus  told  us  to  say  —  *  Our  Father,  who  art  in  heaven '  ? 
O,  do  try,  father.  Do  learn  to  pray.  It  will  make  you 
so  happy." 

'*  I'm  afraid  I'm  too  wicked,  sister,"  and  he  slowly 
shook  his  head — "too  wicked." 

"  No  one  is  too  wicked,  father."  She  put  out  her  other 
hand  from  under  the  clothes,  and  now  clasped  his  with 
both  her  own.  "  It's  a  good  sign,  too,  when  you  feel  so, 
for  then  God  will  give  you  what  you  ask.  That's  the  way 
the  heart  begins  to  feel  how  poor  it  is.  "When  you  feel 
so,  then  God  is  near  you.  But  you  must  pray,  dear  father ; 
and  then  you  can  feel  how  good  he  is.  0,  I  am  so  happy 
when  I  pray." 

Amy  had  a  great  deal  that  she  wished  to  speak,  and  she 
could  have  spoken  from  a  full  heart  indeed.  But  it  was 
far  sweeter  to  hear  this  little  child  talk  thus  to  her  father, 
and  to  behold  how  her  tender  words  drew  him  to  the 
truth. 


304  AMY   LEE. 

"  When  I  die,"  continued  she,  "  I  want  you  always  to 
think  of  me,  father.  Will  you  promise  never  to  for 
get  me?" 

"  Darling,"  said  the  affected  man,  speaking  in  a  broken 
voice,  "  do  you  think  I  ever  can  ?  But  you  won't  die  — 
no,  you  mustrf  die." 

"  D,  do  not  say  that.  God  will  do  what  is  best.  He 
knows  better  than  we  do.  And  I  shall  see  Jesus,  too  — 
my  own  blessed  Jesus.  O  father !  I  wish  he  was  as  dear 
to  you  as  he  is  to  me.  Miss  Amy  told  me  all  about  him, 
and  how  good  he  was,  and  how  he  died  only  for  love  to 
me  —  and  for  you,  too,  dear  father ;  for  r/ow,  too.  He  has 
given  me  a  new  heart,  and  I  am  happy.  I  do  not  fear 
death  now.  Once  I  thought  it  was  such  a  dreadful  thing 
to  be  buried  under  the  ground,  and  I  used  to  cry  when  I 
thought  much  about  it ;  but  it  isn't  /  that  will  lie  there  ; 
I  shall  live  in  a  more  beautiful  world  than  this  is,  dear 
father ;  I  shall  be  with  my  dear  Jesus.,  He  has  made  my 
heart  so  glad  here,  I  know  he  will  do  a  great  deal  more 
for  me  when  I  am  with  him.  No,  indeed  ;  I'm  not  afraid 
to  die.  I  only  thought  how  sad  'twould  be  to  leave  you, 
and  mother,  and  all  the  rest  here  behind  ;  and  that  made 
me  sad.  But  Miss  Amy  says  I  mustn't  feel  that  way ;  for 
God  is  a  good  Father,  and  he  will  take  care  of  us  all." 

He  released  one  of  his  hands,  and  began  toying  with  her 
locks,  that  were  showered  over  the  pillow. 

"  Poor  thing  ! "  he  whispered ;  "  it's  hard  to  think 
of  it." 


THE    PITCHER  AT   THE    FOUNTAIN.  305 

"  0,  no,  dear  father ;  only  it's  hard  for  you  to  be  con 
tented  under  it.  Isn't  that  it  ?  Do  you  feel  all  the  trust 
in  God,  and  all  the  love  for  the  dear  Jesus,  that  makes  me 
so  happy  ?  O,  if  you  did  —  if  you  did !  I  wish  you  would 
try,  father ! " 

This  talk  continued  a  long  time.  Amy  saw  it  made  a 
deep  impression  on  the  father's  heart,  and  she  rejoiced. 
A  little  child  should  yet  lead  this  lion  heart  with  nothing 
but  the  silken  thread  of  love. 

When  at  length  Amy  took  her  leave  of  the  child,  which 
of  late  had  always  been  a  protracted  and  tearful  scene,  she 
came  upon  the  mother  in  the  adjoining  room,  who  stood 
with  her  apron  at  her  eyes  weeping  and  lamenting. 

"  O,  no,"  said  Amy,  "  this  will  not  do  ;  this  is  not 
right,  now.  Come ;  cheer  your  heart,  or  nothing  will  go 
on  well.  Tears  won't  do,  Mrs.  Tatterags,  you  know." 

"  Will  she  live  ? "  the  woman  sobbed  out,  her  eyes 
swollen  and  red  with  weeping.  "  O,  do  tell  me  if  you 
think  poor  little  Dolly  will  live." 

"  There  is  but  One  who  knows,"  answered  Amy.  "  He 
holds  the  secrets  of  life  in  his  hand.  Trust  him  forever. 
Do  not  lose  confidence  in  him.  Love  him  continually. 
Pray  to  him,  Mrs.  Tatterags ;  pray  continually.  And  even 
then,  if  dear  little  Dolly  dies,  you  will  feel  it  is  all  for  the 
best,  and  you  will  be  happy.  Pray,  do  not  set  up  your 
own  heart  against  the  overruling  providence  of  our  Father. 
He  keeps  the  very  sparrows,  you  know  the  Bible  tells  you, 
26* 


300  AMY    LEE. 

and  not  one  even  of  them  falls  to  the  ground  without  his 
notice.  Shall  he  not,  then,  eare  for  all  of  us  ?  " 

With  such  words  of  kindness  and  comfort  she  went 
away.  As  her  feet  plodded  down  the  mountain,  however, 
she  had  secret  misgivings  that  her  little  friend's  end  was 
fast  approaching.  She  talked  much  about  her  to  Mrs. 
Gummel  when  she  got  home  again;  and  by  her  simple 
narrations  of  what  she  heard  and  saw  at  that  humble 
house,  she  moved  that  good  womaa  to  tears. 

Mr.  Tatterags  himself  came  down  on  Saturday,  as  Amy 
was  not  able  on  that  day  to  go  up  to  see  the  sick  one,  on 
purpose  to  bring  her  a  message.  Her  heart  beat  a  great 
deal  faster  as  she  stood  before  him  in  the  door,  for  she  did 
not  know  but  the  dear  little  one  had  gone.  The  color  all 
left  her  face. 

"  Dolly  sent  me  here  a-purpose,"  said  the  father ;  "  and 
what  could  I  do  but  come  ?  The  poor  lamb  !  I  would  be 
glad  to  walk  a  good  many  miles  for  her,  if  I  only  thought 
'twould  make  her  get  well." 

He  paused  to  check  his  rising  feelings,  and  then  went 
on:  — 

"  She  wanted  me  to  ask  you,  —  and  she  whispered  it 
into  my  ear,  too,  as  if  'twan't  quite  right  to  do  it,  and  I 
don't  hardly  think  it  is  myself,  —  she  wanted  me  to  ask 
you  if  you'd  come  and  stay  with  her  all  day  to-morrow." 

"  Certainly  I  will,"  quickly  answered  Amy. 

"To-morrow's  Sunday,  you  know;  and  she  says  she 
don't  know  as  she'll  see  you  at  all  another  Sunday.  If 


THE    PITCHER   AT    THE    FOUNTAIN.  307 

you'd  only  come  up  and  stay  with  her  to-morrow,  Miss 
Lee,  'twould  be  a  great  favor  done  to  us  as  well  as  to  her." 

"  I  certainly  will.  I  will  be  there  early.  You  must 
kiss  little  Dolly  for  me,  and  tell  her  I  will  be  there  early. 
How  is  she  this  afternoon  ?  " 

He  hesitated,  looked  down  at  the  ground,  and  then 
looked  all  around  him. 

"She  ain't  any  better,"  he  finally  answered.  "We 
think  she's  a-failin'." 

He  could  say  no  more,  but  turned  immediately  away, 
thanking  Amy  with  a  quick  half  bow.  But  she  saw  that 
he  dashed  away  the  tears  with  the  back  of  his  hand  as 
soon  as  he  got  on  the  grass  again ;  and  that  was  enough. 

Such  a  morning  as  that  next  morning  had  not  risen  in 
a  great  while.  The  sun  shone  clear  and  bright,  and  already 
many  of  the  birds  were  at  their  early  songs  in  the  maple 
boughs.  The  time  seemed,  indeed,  hallowed. 

Soon  after  breakfast  Amy  put  on  her  things,  took  a  few 
little  comforts  and  dainties  in  her  hand,  and  set  out  for 
the  humble  residence  of  the  Tatterags.  Her  thoughts  by 
the  way  were  alternately  of  her  little  friend  on  her  sick 
bed  and  of  the  glory  of  the  morning.  As  she  crossed  the 
old  bridge,  the  running  water  below  was  a  stream  of  living 
melody.  While  she  toiled  slowly  up  the  mountain,  the 
chorals  of  the  joyous  birds  were  a  source  of  the  sweetest 
serenity  to  her  feelings.  She  sat  down  to  rest  herself  a 
few  minutes  in  the  usual  place  upon  the  terrace,  and  there 
her  soul  worshipped  God  anew  in  the  contemplation  of 


308  AMY    LEE. 

that  most  beautiful  landscape.  All  things  tended  to  in 
spire  her.  There  was  the  village  below  sleeping  and 
dreaming  in  the  blessed  sunlight  of  that  Sabbath  morning. 
There  was  the  gleaming  river  twisting  through  glen  and 
meadow,  and  finally  spreading  out  in  a  broad  and  beauti 
ful  mirror  below.  And  the  far-off  hills,  too,  hemmed  in 
the  picture  like  a  solid  framework  —  the  blue  and  misty 
heavens  coming  down  to  kiss  them  with  the  lips  of  crim 
son  and  purple  clouds. 

But  inspiring  as  the  scene  was,  it  could  not  hold  her 
long  there.  Her  heart  was  not  yet  at  the  end  of  its  jour 
ney  ;  she  rose,  therefore,  and  went  forward. 

The  moment  she  came  in  sight  of  the  house  of  Mr. 
Tatterags,  she  saw  the  father  standing  in  the  little  yard 
before  the  door,  bareheaded,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
and  looking  down  in  deep  thought  to  the  ground.  When 
he  heard  her  footstep  at  the  gate,  he  gazed  at  her  in 
silence,  and  appeared  to  be  unable  to  speak. 

"  Good  morning,"  said  Amy,  pleasantly  as  ever.  "  How 
do  you  all  do  up  here  this  beautiful  morning  ?  How  is 
my  little  Dolly  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head  sadly,  and  again  threw  his  eyes  upon 
the  ground. 

"  She's  no  better,"  said  he,  almost  in  a  whisper. 

"No  better!  Isn't  she?  Let  me  go  in  and  look  at 
her  at  once." 

Amy  hurried  past  him,  and  he  turned  and  followed 
along  after.  She  reached  the  room  where  Dolly  lay,  and 


t 
THE    PITCHER   AT    THE    FOUNTAIN.  309 

found  the  mother  at  the  bedside,  with  several  of  the  chil 
dren.  The  mother  looked  pale  and  anxious,  and  the 
children  frightened  and  uneasy.  As  Amy  entered,  the 
former  was  bending  down  over  Dolly,  asking  her  if  she 
didn't  feel  any  better.  She  made  some  answer  which  Amy 
did  not  hear ;  and  then  Amy  caught  the  low  sound  of  her 
own  name.  The  little  one  spoke  of  her. 

"  I'm  here,"  she  instantly  cried,  stepping  forward  so 
suddenly  as  even  to  startle  Mrs.  Tatterags  considerably. 
*'  I'm  right  here  at  your  side,  my  darling,"  and  she  stooped 
over  and  kissed  the  sick  lips,. with  a  heart  overflowing  with 
love  and  sympathy. 

Dolly  threw  up  her  arms  around  the  neck  of  her  friend, 
and  seemed  in  that  single  moment  to  be  altogether  happy. 
She  strained  Amy  to  her,  as  if  she  would  not  again  let 
her  go. 

Mrs.  Tatterags  was  still  calm,  though  by  no  means  re 
signed  to  the  worst.  The  doctor  was  there  the  afternoon 
before ;  and  though  he  tried  to  revive  their  courage,  he 
could  not  hold  out  to  them  a  great  deal  of  hope.  He 
endeavored  by  gradual  and  gentle  means  to  break  to  them 
the  whole  meaning  of  his  fears,  and  to  prepare  their  minds 
for  the  very  worst  that  might  come. 

"  She's  not  so  well  this  morning,"  whispered  the  mother, 
as  Amy  again  stood  up  to  speak  with  her. 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  the  latter.  "  Perhaps  she 
may  show  better  symptoms  before  the  day  is  out." 

She  looked  and   saw  now  the  father,  listening  at  the 


310  AMY   LEE. 

door,  that  stood  ajar,  and  seeming  to  concentrate  all  his 
feelings  into  that  one  moment  of  agonizing  apprehension. 
It  was  unhappy,  indeed,  only  the  sight  of  the  woe  that 
was  invading  this  humble  little  household.  Amy  turned 
from  it  at  once,  and  began  to  talk  cheerfully  with  the  child. 

"  Do  you  know  what  a  beautiful  morning  it  is,  Dolly  ?  " 
she  asked  her,  glancing  towards  the  window.  "  It  is  Sun 
day,  too." 

"  I  can  see  the  sun  a  little  from  here,  Miss  Amy,"  said 
she.  "  Sunday,  is  it  ?  Why,  so  'tis.  I  don't  believe  I 
shall  be  here  another  Sunday." 

"O,  don't  talk  so,  Dolly  —  don't"  pleaded  her  dis 
tressed  mother. 

The  father  ceased  from  his  pacing  the  floor  of  the  next 
room,  and  listened  again  with  aching  eagerness. 

"  I  always  wanted  to  die  Sunday  when  I  did  die,"  con 
tinued  she. 

"  Why  so  ?  "  asked  Amy,  desiring  to  exhibit  calmness 
to  the  mother  even  when  talking  of  such  a  matter  as  death. 

"Because  it's  a  holy  day,"  answered  Dolly;  "and  I 
know  that  Jesus  will  be  nearer  to  me  then  than  he  is  on 
the  other  days." 

"'No.;  he  is  no  nearer  then  than  he  always  is.  He  is 
at  the  door  of  your  heart  every  hour,  asking  to  come  in." 

"  It  seems  so  ;  I  can't  help  thinking  it's  so,"  said  the 
child.  "  O,  to  go  to  God  on  his  own  Sabbath,  Miss  Amy ! 
But  you  mustn't  cry  when  I  am  gone.  Mother,  I  shall 
always  be  near  you,  and  shall  love  you  more  than  I  ever 


THE    PITCHER   AT    THE    FOUNTAIN.  311 

did  here  ;  for  I  shall  know  how  to  love  better  in  the  other 
world  —  won't  I,  Miss  Amj  ?  " 

It  was  a  sad,  and  yet  it  was  a  profitable  scene,  which 
was  passing  in  that  dwelling  on  this  Sunday  in  spring. 
The  family  did  nothing  and  thought  of  nothing  except 
what  related  to  Dolly.  The  forenoon  lapsed ;  and  during 
the  passage  of  those  sacred  hours  Amy  could  see  that  she 
was  very  rapidly  failing.  Once  the  mother  called  her  out 
into  the  next  room,  and  tearfully  asked  if  she  could  live ; 
but  Amy  could  not  hold  out  to  her  a  false  hope  ;  and  she 
answered  that  the  dear  little  one  might  pass  away  before 
the  sunset,  even  as  her  own  heart  seemed  to  desire.  She 
begged  the  poor  woman  to  put  trust  in  God,  explaining  in 
her  loving  words  how  dear  all  his  children  are  to  him,  and 
how  his  fatherly  care  surrounded  each  one  of  us  continu 
ally.  She  labored  to  increase  her  feeble  faith,  and  told 
her  that  with  more  of  this  she  would  be  happy.  The  loss 
of  her  darling  would  be  no  affliction  ;  it  would  be  her  own 
greatest  gain. 

As  the  afternoon  set  in,  Amy  saw  that  it  would  not  do 
to  leave  her  alone  for  even  a  minute.  It  was  too  evident, 
by  this  time,  that  she  might  at  almost  any  .instant  drop 
away.  Still  she  held  her  faculties  all  complete.  Her  rea 
son  never  became  shadowed,  and  her  mind  did  not  wander. 
She  lay  and  regarded  them  all ;  and  though  she  was  visi 
bly  growing  weaker  and  weaker,  yet  she  had  expressions 
of  affection  for  them  every  one.  The  children  hardly 
knew  how  to  understand  her ;  but  the  parents  were  wholly 


312  JLMY   LEE. 

overcome.  They  could  not  bring  their  hearts  to  it,  for  the 
old  flint  had  never  been  broken.  Grief  might  yet  subdue. 
Heaven's  ordering  would  be  the  best. 

At  about  four  o'clock,  she  looked  up  at  them  from  out 
her  large  eyes,  —  so  expressive  at  this  time,  —  and  ex 
claimed  in  a  low  voice,  — 

"  0,  I  know  I'm  going  to  die.  I  can't  live  any  longer. 
Jesus  is  calling  me  home,  mother.  O,  won't  you  go,  too  ? 
I  am  dying  now,  Miss  Amy.  I  know  I  shall  go  soon.  O, 
I  can't  breathe.  Open  the  window,  father." 

They  sprang  to  do  as  she  requested ;  and  Amy  raised 
her  head  upon  her  arm,  and  gently  fanned  her  face  —  that 
poor,  pale  face,  with  the  locks  blowing  on  either  side  of 
the  temples  with  every  current  of  the  wind. 

She  looked  unspeakably  grateful  to  them  all. 

"  O,  you  have  been  so  good  to  me,  'dear  Miss  Amy  ! " 
said  she,  speaking  with  difficulty,  and  very  low.  "  You 
have  done  so  much  for  me  !  I  hope  you'll  come  to  me  in 
heaven.  I  know  we  shall  meet  there  ;  and  mother,  too  ; 
and  father  ;  and  all  the  rest." 

Now  they  stood  with  their  aprons  and  their  hands  to 
their  eyes,  weeping  aloud.  Amy  alone  was  calm  and  self- 


"  Don't  cry,  mother  —  O,  don't  cry.  What  is  there  to 
cry  for  ?  Jesus  is  calling  me,  and  I  hear  him.  I  shall  be 
so  much  letter  now,  and  so  much  happier.  O,  don't  cry 
because  I  am  going  to  die." 

Then  she  closed  her  eyes,  and  appeared  to  slumber. 


THE    PITCHER    AT    THE    FOUNTAIN.  313 

Her  breathing  was  quick  and  faint.  It  could  hardly  be 
distinguished  at  all.  Amy's  arm  was  still  lovingly  be 
neath  her. 

There  was  a  long  silence,  and  it  was  crowded  with  sus 
pense.  The  whole  of  the  family  were  still  at  the  bedside, 
looking  on,  and  Amy  like  an  angel  there  to  bring  sunlight 
into  the  gloom  of  their  sorrow. 

"  Is  she  breathing  ? "  asked  the  mother,  alarmed  to  see 
no  signs  of  life. 

Amy  put  down  her  ear  to  her  lips. 

Just  at  that  moment  there  was  a  motion  and  a  whisper, 
very  faint,  yet  wholly  perceptible. 

"Dear  Jesus!"  she  exclaimed,  as  if  already  she  had 
taken  the  voice  of  a  young  angel.  "  O  dear  Jesus  !  I  am 
going  home." 

Still  Amy  listened.  But  there  was  no  more  sound ;  no 
more  voice  ;  not  a  lisp,  or  a  whisper. 

She  put  her  ear  still  closer.  No  breathing  now.  She 
was  gone.  Her  auburn  locks  were  showered  over  the  pil 
low,  and  she  lay  a  corpse.  But  the  gentle  young  spirit 
was  in  heaven. 

27 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 
BACK  TO  BOSTON. 

AMY  sat  at  her  chamber  window.  It  was  the  evening 
before  she  was  to  leave  the  town  and  her  few  dear  friends. 
Though  she  regretted  the  manner  and  the  motive  of  the 
person  who  had  been  influential  enough  to  work  this  sud 
den  change,  in  her  life,  she  nevertheless  made  no  complaint, 
and  felt  no  disposition  to  murmur.  Whatever  was  ordered 
she  felt  certain  to  be  for  her  good  ;  and  under  all  circum 
stances,  therefore,  she  was  cheerful. 

She  thought  of  where  she  should  be  the  next  day  at 
that  time,  how  much  she  would  miss  her  old  friends  here 
at  Valley  Village,  and  what  new  feelings  would  possess 
her  in  her  changed  way  of  life  again.  That  afternoon  she 
had  been  over  to  bid  farewell  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Parsons. 
Not  without  tears  could  she  speak  the  last  words  to  them, 
for  they  were  really  near  her  heart.  They  hoped  she 
would  not  quite  forget  them,  though  Amy  knew  too  well 
that  that  was  impossible.  They  insisted  that  she  should 
come  back  again  to  Valley  Village  at  some  future  day,  and 
stay  with  them  just  as  long  as  she  liked.  They  parted 
from  her  with  many  expressions  of  real  affection,  and 

(314) 


BACK    TO    BOSTON.  315 

loaded  her  with  their  best  and  kindliest  wishes,  and  with 
their  most  earnest  blessings. 

Olive  she  could  not  see.  There  was  no  last  word  to  be 
had  with  her.  A  high  barrier  had  been  interposed  between 
her  heart  and  the  heart  of  her  dear  friend ;  and  though 
nothing  was  plainer  than  that  the  two  girls  still  loved  one 
another  devotedly,  yet  every  thing  like  contact  was  most 
carefully  prevented.  Amy  could  hardly  keep  the  tears 
out  of  her  eyes,  as  she  thought  of  this  needless  and  un 
happy  state  of  things.  She  knew  that  her  own  heart  was 
free  from  guilt.  She  felt  only  pity  for  the  wilful  cause  of 
the  wrong,  and  deep  sympathy  for  the  other  sufferer. 

Yet  it  was  very  sad,  after  all,  to  think  of  leaving  Olive 
under  such  circumstances.  It  cast  a  cloud  over  the  whole 
future. 

And  then,  too,  the  sudden  death  of  little  Dolly  was  a 
great  weight  at  her  heart.  It  seemed  to  her  as  if  one  by 
one  the  idols  had  been  wrested  from  her  embrace,  and  she 
were  now  told  by  a  voice  above  her  head  —  "  Go ;  you 
have  reaped  your  harvest  here  ;  there  is  a  still  wider  field 
for  you,  where  you  can  do  greater  good."  And  she  pre 
pared  to  obey  the  voice,  trusting  alone  in  the  providence 
and  love  of  the  good  Father. 

Mrs.  Gummel  rose  very  early  on  the  next  morning,  and 
knocked  on  Amy's  door  to  wake  her ;  but  Amy  was  up 
before  her.  The  stage  drove  through  the  village  street, 
and  up  to  the  door,  pretty  soon  after  breakfast ;  and  while 
the  driver  was  busy  at  strapping  on  the  baggage  behind, 


316  AMY   IEE. 

Amy  and  her  friend  were  weeping  and  exchanging  farewells 
in  the  little  entry. 

"Now,  you  will  write  me,  won't  you?"  begged  Mrs. 
Gummel,  still  holding  her  hand. 

"  Certainly  —  certainly ;  and  you  will  let  me  know  how 
you  get  on,  too ;  and  tell  me  all  about  this  dear  old  place, 
when  you  write.  I  do  love  this  spot,  though  I  must 
leave  it.", 

"  Remember,  now,  that  I  was  the  first  person  rere  whom 
you  knew  ;  and  you  have  been  with  me  from  beginning  to 

end ;  and  poor  little  Henry "  But  Mrs.  Gummel 

choked,  and  could  say  no  more. 

Amy  pressed  her  hand  in  token  of  sympathy. 

"  God  has  taken  him,"  said  she,  in  a  tremulous  whisper. 

Then  Amy  proceeded  again,  and  for  the  last  time,  to 
thank  her  for  her  great  kindness,  and  called  down  the 
richest  blessings  of  Heaven  on  her  head.  She  tcld  her 
not  to  forget,  either,  that  while  this  life  was  certainly  a 
time  to  be  well  improved,  wherein  we  were  to  try  and  en 
joy  the  whole  wide  range  of  our  faculties,  yet  it  was  not 
the  entire  life ;  there  was  a  vaster,  and  a  grander,  and  a 
much  more  beautiful  one  wrapped  in  the  folds  of  a  mys 
terious  future. 

And  with  such  words  the  two  friends  parted ;  for  the 
stageman  immediately  called  out  that  all  was  ready,  and 
after  a  last  embrace  she  hurried  up  the  steps  into  the  coach. 
The  door  slammed  in  her  face,  and  the  driver  mounted  to 
his  seat.  Amy  bent  forward  to  take  a  last  look,  and  there 


BACK   TO  BOSTON.  317 

still  stood  Mrs.  Gummel  in  her  little  door,  her  cheeks 
streaming  with  tears.  Amy  waved  her  hand,  and  the 
wide  world  lay  between  them. 

Her  thoughts  were  indeed  various,  while  she  rode  over 
the  country  turnpike ;  and  up  from  the  mass  of  these 
crushed  feelings  arose  the  fragrance  of  a  sweet  and  endur 
ing  piety.  These  changes  could  not  reach  the  centre  of 
her  serenity.  They  were  good  for  her  soul's  health,  be 
cause  they  both  kept  it  in  active  exercise,  and  impressed 
upon  it  the  lessons  of  trust  and  humility ;  but  they  never 
affected  that  deep  and  quiet  feeling  of  peace  that  reigned 
in  the  heart  of  her  being,  and  radiated  sweet  joy  in  all 
directions  to  the  circumference. 

That  whole  day  was  passed  in  travelling.  Late  in  the 
afternoon  she  descended  from  a  hack  to  the  sidewalk  be 
fore  Mrs.  Dozy's  door,  and  was  immediately  greeted  with 
much  warmth  by  that  lady,  who  had  hurriedly  run  down 
the  stairs  for  that  purpose.  What  a  joyful  meeting  it  was  ! 
Good  Mrs.  Dozy  could  say  nothing  —  she  only  took  Amy 
by  the  hand,  and  led  her  in  silence  straight  up  the  stairs. 
They  were  all  glad  to  see  her  again,  and  offered  their  con 
gratulations  at  her  return  with  great  freedom.  Sitting 
down  in  a  circle  around  her,  before  she  could  even  disrobe 
herself  of  her  travelling  garments,  they  began  to  put  her 
questions  without  number. 

"  But  look  here  ! "  finally  exclaimed  Mrs.  Dozy,  her 
thoughts  coming  to  her ;  «<  the  child  must  be  starvin'.  Do 
27* 


318  AMY    LEE. 

let's  go  and  get  her  something  to  eat."  And  no  sooner 
said  than  done. 

After  Amy  had  been  rested  a  little,  and  had  partaken 
of  supper,  and  "  got  a  good  cup  of  tea,"  —  as  Mrs.  Dozy 
said,  —  she  manifestly  felt  better.  She  began  the  history 
of  her  last  year's  experience  to  them,  and  finished  it,  de 
tailing,  however,  only  such  items  of  it  as  she  thought 
prudent,  or  capable  of  interesting  her  eager  listeners. 

When  Mrs.  Dozy  showed  her  into  her  room  —  the  same 
room  that  she  had  occupied  with  her  poor  father,  and  the 
one  for  which,  too,  she  had  written  —  a  sudden  wave  of 
desolate  feeling  washed  over  her  heart,  and  she  burst  forth 
in  a  flood  of  tears. 

Mrs.  Dozy  was  silen^.  She  understood  those  sacred 
emotions  too  well  herself  to  offer  any  interruption  to  their 
full  and  free  course. 

To  Amy  the  old  gloom  still  seemed  to  remain.  The 
room  was  dark  and  dreary  with  it.  She  looked  about  in 
every  corner,  and  her  thoughts  were  of  him  who  was  gone. 
That  dear  father!  though  his  face  was  hidden  in  the  dark 
ness  of  the  grave,  yet  it  seemed  to  look  out  every  where 
dimly  into  her  own.  She  could  not  speak  for  some  time. 
The  old  memories  crowded  too  thickly  about  her. 

Once  reinstated,  however,  in  the  ways  of  the  former 
retired  life  here,  and  matters  moved  along  without  any 
particular  obstruction  or  change.  Amy  went  out  again,  as 
soon  as  she  was  well  settled,  to  hunt  up  music  scholars. 


BACK    TO    BOSTON.  319 

She  resolved  to  return  to  her  old  avocation  when  she  camo 
back  to  Boston,  sure  of  finding  a  suitable  support  in  its 
pursuit. 

Accordingly  she  engaged  about  it  without  further  delay. 
First,  she  called  on  all  her  former  pupils.  Some  she  found 
had  moved  away,  some  were  already  under  the  secured 
tuition  of  others,  and  some  were  glad  to  return  again  to 
the  instructions  of  their  old  teacher.  They  all  welcomed 
her  back  with  great  sincerity,  exclaiming  how  much  better 
she  looked  now  than  when  she  went  away,  and  expressing 
the  hope  that  Boston  was  always  to  be  her  home. 

Among  the  new  pupils  that  she  obtained,-  there  was  one 
young  girl  named  Mary  Braggins.  Her  father  was  a  mer 
chant  in  Boston,  of  high  standing,  of  very  considerable 
wealth,  and  with  but  one  other  child  besides  herself.  This 
other  one's  name  was  Ellen.  She  was  many  years  older 
than  Mary,  and  at  this  day  seemed  rather  to  exercise  a 
maternal  government  over  her.  Perhaps  Ellen  was  twenty 
or  twenty-two  years  of  age  —  a  trifle  older  than  Amy 
herself. 

Mr.  Braggins  was  a  widower,  and  lived  in  good  "  style," 
his  eldest  daughter  willingly  holding  herself  responsible 
for  any  shortcomings  in  that  matter  of  which  he  might  be 
convicted.  Ellen  was  ambitious  enough  for  them  all.  She 
had  been  petted  from  her  youngest  days ;  and  from  a  little 
pet  gradually  —  and  not  very  gradually,  either  —  she  came 
to  be  a  great  ruler.  "We  often  hear  of  such  transforma 
tions,  even  if  we  do  not  see  them 


320  AMY    LEE. 

In  the  matter  of  Amy's  qualifications,  no  one  had  so 
"busy  a  part  to  take  as  Ellen.  She  assumed  the  office  of 
examiner  at  large  and  in  particular.  Not  that  the  betrayal 
of  care  about  an  arrangement  that  was  sensibly  to  affect 
the  culture  of  her  young  sister  was  a  matter  of  such 
special  importance  to  her  thoughts,  but  rather  because 
she  felt  herself  called  upon  to  exercise  authority  at  all 
times  when  the  opportunity  offered,  and  especially  so  when, 
as  in  the  present  case,  she  could  seem  to  lift  herself  at  the 
expense  of  the  feelings  of  another. 

But  Amy  was  engaged  as  the  music  teacher  of  little 
Mary,  and  felt  certain  that  she  should  like  her  pupil  as 
they  got  on  together.  And  so  the  event  proved.  Mary 
was  a  promising  scholar,  and  applied  herself  with  earnest 
ness.  Amy  was  much  encouraged  with  her  industry,  and 
at  all  times  spoke  in  the  most  nattering  terms  about  her 
to  Ellen.  The  latter,  too,  could  not  well  help  seeing  for 
herself  the  child's  progress,  and  was  apparently  quite  sat 
isfied.  And  thus  at  once  grew  up,  first  an  acquaintance, 
and  then  a  friendship,  between  the  girls,  that  promised 
much  future  satisfaction  and  pleasure.  Ellen's  assumption 
of  authority  seemed  gradually  to  yield  before  the  perpet 
ual  gentleness  of  so  lovely  a  heart  as  Amy's.  She  gave 
over  her  airs  of  patronage  altogether,  and  essayed  milder 
and  more  attractive  means.  The  refinement  and  exalted 
purity  of  Amy  put  her  former  ways  to  the  blush  complete 
ly.  And  in  very  spite  of  herself,  she  found  at  last  that 
she  was  being  drawn  to  the  heart  cf  the  humble  music 


BACK   TO    BOSTON.  821 

teacher  by  a  silent  and  secret  power,  against  which  there 
was  no  resistance. 

Ellen  Braggins  was  a  beautiful  girl,  and  gifted  with  a 
fine  education.  She  possessed  a  brilliant  intellect  —  quick, 
subtle,  and  strong  —  and  manners  well  calculated  to  attract 
those  in  whose  society  she  might  be  thrown.  Though 
her  father  kept  a  housekeeper,  yet  she  considered  herself 
at  the  head  of  the  establishment,  and  went  about  from 
the  top  to  the  bottom  of  the  house  with  all  the  authority 
of  style  that  could  set  well  on  the  shoulders  even  of  a 
proprietor. 

.  She  was  in  the  habit  of  receiving  considerable  company 
from  time  to  time,  some  of  which  Amy  happened  to  meet 
on  the  occasions  of  her  own  professional  calls.  Amy 
could  not  fail  to  observe  Ellen's  great  freedom  with  them, 
and  sometimes  she  was  even  made  to  feel  the  humiliating 
position  in  which  a  trifling  remark  of  the  other  would 
place  her.  It  only  meant  that  she  should  not  venture  to 
think  of  assuming  too  much  familiarity  with  the  visitors, 
and  especially  that  she  should  never  offer  to  place  herself 
on  a  footing  of  equality  with  the  youthful  mistress  of  the 
house.  Aside  from  this,  Ellen  never  showed  Amy  any 
thing  but  the  kindest  and  politest  treatment,  and  in  private 
she  did  not  disguise  her  desire  to  make  a  confidant  of 
her.  Amy  affected  to  be  blind  to  her  more  offensive  man 
ners,  and  forgave  and  forgot  all,  that  they  might  meet  on 
the  ground  of  one  single  sympathy  that  both  had  in  com 
mon.  Yet  at  no  one  time  did  she  consent  to  part  with 


322  AMY    LEE. 

her  self-respect.  But  she  bore  it  with  so  much  sweetness, 
so  much  grace,  and  gentleness,  and  humility,  that  it  was 
wonder  enough  that  Ellen  was  not  made  a  convert  to  her 
influence  in  even  a  greater  degree  than  she  really  was. 

The  new  calling  was  highly  agreeable,  and  made  Amy 
many  new  friends.  Though  she  had  been  brought  to  it 
again  through  sorrow  and  sadness,  yet  it  yielded  her  heart 
a  revenue  of  satisfaction  beyond  any  thing  that  she  had 
dared  to  expect. 


CHAPTER    XXIX, 
A  PICTUE*  OF  TROUBLE. 

PASSIN  j  through  a  retired  and  narrow  street  one  after 
noon,  on  her  way  home  from  the  day's  labors,  Amy  saw  a 
crowd  of  men,  women,  and  children  gathered  on  the  side 
walk  before  a  dingy  door,  and  a  little  way  off  a  young  girl 
weeping  bitterly.  The  child  was  bareheaded,  barefooted, 
clad  in  the  cheapest  and  coarsest  garments,  and  sat  down 
on  the  curb  stone,  bewailing  her  wretchedness  in  a  tone 
that  challenged  Amy's  pity  in  a  moment.  Going  directly 
up  to  her,  therefore,  she  asked  her  what  was  the  matter. 

"  Father's  got  hurt !  O,  father's  got  hurt !  "  she  cried, 
not  offering  to  look  up  and  see  who  was  questioning  her. 

"  Where  is  your  father  ? ' '  Amy  asked  hurriedly.  "  Where 
do  you  live  ?  " 

"  In  there  —  in  the-e-r-e  ! "  the  child  mournfully  drawled 
out,  giving  way  still  more  to  her  trouble.  And  as  she 
spoke,  she  also  pointed  in  the  direction  of  the  door  around 
which  the  people  of  the  neighborhood  were  gathered. 

Amy  went  without  any  hesitation  to  the  spot,  and  moved 
as  to  pass  in.  Those  who  stood  about  the  entrance,  with 
such  pale  faces,  and  talking  in  such  ominous  whispers, 

(323) 


324  AMY   LEE. 

immediately  made  way  to  give  her  room,  casting  strange 
glances  after  her,  as  if  to  inquire  who  she  could  be. 

The  entry  was  long  and  narrow,  and  the  walls  in  any 
other  than  a  cleanly  condition.  On  the  floor  had  at  some 
past  time  been  sprinkled  sand,  which  now  exhibited  all 
the  variety  of  colors  that  in  the  interim  it  had  imbibed. 
Amy  followed  the  remnants  of^the  crowd  along,  and  so 
climbed  a  flight  of  dirty  stairs.  Through  the  door  on  the 
left,  at  their  top,  she  saw  a  collection  of  people,  and  knew 
that  there  was  the  place  where  this  misfortune  was  to 
be  seen. 

Going  in,  therefore,  she  observed  a  pale-faced  man 
stretched  out  upon  the  bed,  who  now  and  then  threw  his 
arms  about  restlessly,  and  kept  moaning  and  groaning 
continually.  His  eyes  were  wild,  she  could  see  as  she 
approached  nearer,  and  at  times  they  were  fixed  for  a  mo 
ment  or  more  in  his  head,  expressing  a  great  deal  of  suffer 
ing.  He  would  bite  his  lips  with  fierceness,  and  in  his 
agony  gnash  his  teeth. 

The  surgeon  had  been  there  to  bind  up  his  wounds,  but 
had  now  go~ne.  At  the  bedside  stood  a  thin,  anxious- 
looking  woman,  bending  over  him  to  catch  every  syllable 
he  uttered,  and  now  and  then  turning  around  to  wring  her 
hands  for  her  great  grief.  There  were  likewise  other 
women  in  the  room  and  about  the  bed,  with  eager  and 
bloodless  countenances,  staring  hard  at  every  one  who 
came  through  the  door,  and  staring'  particularly  at  Amy 
since  she  had  entered.  They  would  run  over  her  person 


A    PICTURE    OF    TROUBLE.  325 

with  their  inquisitive  eyes,  and  then  whisper  one  with  the 
other  about  where  she  could  have  come  from  and  who  she 
could  be. 

On  the  opposite  side  .of  the  bed  was  sitting  a  young 
man,  closely  attentive  to  the  slightest  movements  of  the 
sufferer,  but  whose  face  expressed  quite  as  much  anguish 
as  that  felt  by  the  most  distressed  oner  there.  He  would 
study  the  features  of  the  man  on  the  bed,  and  then  relapse 
into  his  own  individual  look  of  friendlessness  and  misery. 
Amy  asked  herself  if  indeed  all  the  woe  of  the  world  was 
crowded  into  this  cribbed  little  chamber. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ? "  she  asked  of  the  woman  at 
the  bedside,  in  a  whisper. 

The  latter  looked  through  her  rolling  tears  into  her  face, 
holding  up  her  apron. 

"  O,  he's  had  a  buildin'  fall  o4  to  him.  He's  my  own 
husband"  And  then  she  put  her  apron  to  her  eyes  and 
wept  aloud. 

Amy  said  and  did  what  she  could  to  pacify  the  poor 
woman ;  but  the  more  she  exerted  herself,  the  more  the 
distressed  creature  increased  her  sobs.  It  was  a  pitiful 
sight. 

All  the  time  she  was  engaged  with  the  wife  of  the  poor 
man,  Amy  observed  that  the  eyes  of  the  young  man  op 
posite  were  upon  her.  He  could  not  well  avoid  hearing 
what  passed  between  them.  If  so,  it  certainly  must  have 
been  that  which  so  deeply  seemed  to  interest  him. 

"  He's  all  our  dependence,"  cried  the  wife.  "  We  can'l 
28 


326  AMY   LEE. 

get  along  from  one  day  to  another  without  his  work ;  and 
now  jest  see  what  he  is!  —  both  of  his  wrists  broke,  so 
the  doctor  says,  and  his  hip  all  put  out,  so't  he  can't  walk 
for  weeks  and  months  agin,  if  he  ever  does.  O,  dear  !  O, 
dear  !  What  shall  I  do  !  What  shall  we  all  come  to  !  " 

Amy  asked  her  how  many  children  they  had  to  pro 
vide  for. 

"  There's  six  of  'em  —  God  bless  the  poor  little  things ! 
They're  without  any  father  now,  and  I'm  sure  I  don't 
know  what's  to  become  of  'em.  O,  dear  !  O,  the  good 
gracious  !  What  shall  I  do  !  What  shall  I  do  !  " 

Some  of  the  children  hereupon  came  crowding  in,  all 
crying  as  hard  as  they  could  cry,  and  scarcely  one  of  them 
knowing  for  what.  Amy  could  not  help  regarding  them 
with  the  profoundest  pity. 

"  They  must  be  provided  for,"  said  she  to  the  woman. 

"  Ah,  but  who's  going  to  do  it  for  me  ?  Shall  I  go  and 
make  'em  all  little  paupers,  and  my  own  children  too  ? 
Would  you  like  to  do  such  a  thing  as  that  yourself,  sweet 
lady,  when  you  know  you've  never  had  to  beg  for  one  of 
'em  yet  a  day?  " 

Amy  well  understood  the  poor  mother's  feeling.  It  was 
hare  to  think  of  handing  over  her  children  to  the  care  of 
the  city  authorities,  and  it  certainly  was  an  alternative  of 
which  the  woman  had  never  before  thought.  Well  might 
it  distress  her  to  have  it  brought  home  to  her  heart. 

In  a  few  minutes,  however,  Amy  had  been  around  among 
the  other  women  collected  there,  and  arranged  with  them 


A   PICTURE   OF   TROUBLE.  327 

to  take  four  of  the  children,  under  the  promise  of  a  small 
amount  of  pay  for  every  week.  She  learned,  too,  that 
they  all  lived  either  in  the  same  or  the  adjoining  building, 
and  therefore  the  separation  would  not  be  a  matter  of  any 
regret.  They  would  have  as  good  care  as  if  they  were  to 
be  with  their  mother,  and  their  little  shadows  would  not 
yet  be  thrown  across  the  threshold  of  any  poorhouse. 
After  making  these  arrangements,  she  asked  the  afflicted 
mother  if  they  were  satisfactory  to  her.  The  latter  lifted 
up  both  hands  and  called  down  the  choicest  of  Heaven's 
blessings  on  the  "  dear  young  lady's  "  head.  Amy  then 
put  some  silver  in  her  hand,  and  bade  her  be  of  good 
heart,  and  hope  all  the  time  for  the  best. 

And  turning  about  to  take  another  look  at  the  sufferer 
on  the  bed  before  her  departure,  she  observed  that  the 
eyes  of  the  young  man  opposite  were  still  fixed  on  her 
with  marvellous  intentness. 

"  He  will  soon  be  easier,  I  hope,"  he  remarked,  drop 
ping  his  gaze  to  the  bed.  "  Poor  man !  I  pity  him." 

Amy  looked  at  the  wounded  man,  and  all  the  time  that 
she  looked,  she  could  not  help  wondering  what  could  be 
the  tie  that  held  that  young  stranger  to  this  unfortunate 
laborer.  And  the  longer  she  thought  upon  it,  the  more 
she  was  puzzled  and  perplexed. 

He  was  quite  twenty-four,  with  a  fine  face,  though  it 
was  shadowed  by  an  anxious  expression.  His  dress  was 
plain  and  neat,  though  in  good  taste  and  excellent  condi 
tion.  H  5  had  dark  eyes  and  eyebrows,  black  hair,  and 


328  AMY    LEE. 

features  that  stood  for  signs  of  a  most  earnest  and  sincere 
expression.  Some  of  the  time  he  leaned  his  head  upon 
his  hand,  and  then  he  looked  exceedingly  sorrowful. 
Without  doubt  he  had  seen  grief,  perhaps  great  grief ; 
that  each  lineament  of  his  face  seemed  to  express.  He 
evidently  did  not  belong  there  either ;  there  appeared  to 
be  no  natural  relationship  between  him  and  any  one  of 
those  present.  They  regarded  him  as  a  stranger,  and 
some  of  the  women  addressed  him  distantly  by  the  title 
"  Dootor." 

Amy  ;ook  her  leave,  and  comforted  the  distressed 
woman  by  telling  her  she  would  come  again  to  see  her  on 
the  next  day. 

The  walk  home  was  as  if  she  were  in  a  vast  solitude,  so 
much  did  her  thoughts  isolate  her  from  all  things  around 
her.  If  her  eyes  were  upon  the  ground,  or  on  the  brick 
walls  of  the  houses,  or  passing  searchingly  over  the  faces 
of  those  she  was  every  moment  meeting,  it  was  the  same 
to  her  ;  she  knew  not  who  passed  —  she  recognized  no  faces 
—  she  was  hardly  sure  whether  it  was  buildings,  trees,  or 
sky  on  which  her  eyes  were  riveted. 

Only  a  few  minutes  after  she  entered  her  room  again, 
and  as  soon  as  she  had  laid  off  her  things,  the  door  bell 
rang,  and  the  girl  showed  some  one  up  stairs  into  the  par 
lor.  Immediately  she  knocked  on  Amy's  door,  and  told 
her  that  a  gentleman  wished  to  see  her  in  the  other  room ; 
yet  the  girl's  face  betrayed  no  little  uneasiness,  as  if  she 
was  not  sure  that  all  was  right. . 


A.  PICTUKE   OF   TROUBLE.  329 

"Who  is  he?"  Amy  asked  her.  "Did  he  give  you 
his  name  ?  " 

"  No,  ma'im,"  answered  the  girl ;  "  and  he  didn't  know 
yours  neither.  He  said  he  didn't." 

"  Didn't  know  my  name  !  Whom  did  he  inquire  for, 
then  ?  " 

It  was  Amy's  turn  to  be  astonished  now. 

"  He  only  said  he  wanted  very  much  to  see  the  young 
lady  that  boarded  here,  and  that  jest  come  in.  That's  all 
he  said  to  me,  ma'am.  But  he  looks  nice,  and  I  guess  he's 
good.  I'd  go  in  and  speak  to  him,  Miss  Amy." 

So  she  went.  But  the  thoughtful  maid  voluntarily  re 
mained  a  minute  or  two  in  the  entry,  not  knowing  but  she 
might  in  some  strange  contingency  be  needed.  And  after 
vainly  waiting  as  long  as  she  thought  it  necessary,  she  re 
linquished  her  post  at  last  and  hurried  down  stairs. 

As  soon  as  Amy  entered  the  parlor,  she  saw  with  much 
surprise  that  her  visitor  was  the  young  man  whom  she  had 
but  just  left  sitting  at  the  injured  man's  bedside.  A 
thousand  thoughts  rushed  across  her  at  this  unexpected 
revelation.  She  was  possessed  with  wonder,  with  curios 
ity,  with  a  kind  of  sympathy,  and,  it  must  be  confessed, 
with  a  very  dim  and  indistinct  thought  of  fear. 

She  looked  calmly  in  his  face.  There  sat  that  same  ex 
pression  of  sad  friendlessness,  perhaps  a  little  heightened 
now. 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  he,  rising  and  making  a  most  re 
spectful  bow ;  "I  know  I  am  doing  wrong ;  I  know  I  have 
28* 


330  AMY    LEE. 

no  sort  of  right  to  expect  that  you  will  listen  to  me  ;  but 
a  wretch  like  myself  is  apt  to  forget  every  thing  but  his* 
wretchedness,  and  to  do  what  he  never  would  at  other 
times." 

He  paused.  Amy  sat  down  and  waited  to  hear  his 
errand. 

"  You  must  think  it  very  strange  that  I  have  followed 
you  home  ;  but  if  you  could  read  the  volume  of  misery 
that  is  bound  up  in  my  heart,  you  would  at  least  forgive 
me.  I  saw  your  face  at  that  bedside  of  suffering,  and  in 
a  moment  I  felt  that  I  knew  you.  I  felt  that  it  was  you 
alone  of  all  other  human  beings  who  could  understand  my 
deep,  deep  miseries.  Forgive  me  if  I  am  too,  bold,  or  if 
I  intrude  in  the  least  upon  you  at  this  time.  I  will  go  out 
into  the  street  again  if  you  wish  me  to  go  ;  but  O,  let  me 
beg  first  to  let  you  into  the  secret  of  my  sufferings." 

She  could  not  directly  answer  him,  as  he  paused  again 
in  expectation  of  an  answer  ;  but  the  slight  motion  of  her 
head  was  sufficient  to  give  him  encouragement  to  go  on. 

A  very  trifle  did  his  face  light  up  at  this  sign  of  sympa 
thy,  and  he  proceeded. 

"  You  saw  me  at  the  bedside  of  that  unfortunate  man. 
I  was  there  because  I  witnessed  the  misery  of  his  family. 
Seeing  that,  I  felt  that  there  were  others  in  the  world  fully 
as  wretched  as  myself.  I  went  along  with  the  crowd  that 
followed  him  into  his  own  house.  Never  had  I  seen  his 
face  before,  and  I  did  not  know  that  I  should  ever  see  it 
again.  Perhaps  when  you  first  saw  me  sitting  there  at 


A.   PICTURE    OP    TKOTJBLE.  331 

the  bedside,  you  thought  I  was  a  relation.  I  am  not, 
unless  suffering  makes  us  relatives.  It  often  does  beget 
strange  connections  in  this  world,  such  as  we  would  not  at 
other  times  be  willing  to  believe  possible." 

Alas  !  how  very  true  did  Amy's  own  experience  tell  her 
(hat  all  his  sad  words  were  ! 

Again  he  hesitated.  His  own  sense  of  delicacy  and 
propriety  could  not  but  teach  him  that  he  had  come  with 
an  uncommon  errand.  Nothing,  too,  but  his  quick  per 
ception  had  suggested  to  him  that  he  was  likewise  address 
ing  an  uncommon  person. 

"  Then  you  are  not  related  to  this  poor  family,"  said 
Amy,  encouragingly. 

"  O,  no  ;  no,  I  do  not  even  know  their  names.  I  was 
drawn  there  only  by  the  strong  magnetic  power  of  sympa 
thy.  I  thought  I  had  found  those  who  might  be  even  as 
wretched  as  myself;  and  wretched  indeed  I  am,  my  own 
bleeding  heart  every  moment  tells  me." 

The  water  rushed  to  his  eyes.  Amy  regarded  him  with 
a  look  of  tenderness  and  pity.  He  caught  that  look,  and 
his  sorrows  seemed  to  lift  their  heavy  cloud. 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  this  that  so  crushes  my  life  ?  May  I 
tell  you  what  my  trouble  is  ?  " 

She  could  merely  nod  assent,  for  his  distressed  man 
ner  had  so  wrought  upon  her  sympathies  as  to  choke  her 
utterance. 

"  Six  years  ago,"  said  he,  "  the  world  was  full  of  joy 
and  promise  for  me.  I  was  then  innocent  and  happy.  My 


332  AMY    LEE. 

heart  was  clean.  I  did  not  know  iniquity  I  had  not 
then  stained  my  hands  with  it.  O,  what  a  change  from 
that  time  of  hope  ! 

"  My  parents  are  respectable,  and  I  have  enjoyed  good 
advantages  in  my  youth.  Alas  !  they  were  too  good. 
They  were  much  better  than  I  deserved.  I  have  wronged 
those  who  have  helped  me.  Mine  has  been  the  crime,  and 
I  feel  every  day  that  mine  must  be  the  atonement. 

"  When  I  was  only  fifteen  years  of  age  I  was  put  into 
the  counting  room  of  a  Boston  merchant,  to  learn  under 
him  the  rudiments  of  a  business  education.  As  I  had  a 
decided  taste  for  such  pursuits,  I  made  progress  in  my  sit 
uation  very  rapidly.  I  was  promoted  as  fast  as  I  could 
be,  and  perhaps  much  too  fast  for  my  own  good.  Each 
succeeding  year  found  me  in  an  improved  position,  and  in. 
the  receipt  of  a  better  salary.  I  was  prospering  beyond 
either  the  expectations  of  my  friends  or  myself. 

"  The  gentleman  with  whom  I  was  engaged  was  a  man 
of  stern  and  lofty  mercantile  principles,  though  he  pos 
sessed  the  heart  of  a  woman.  I  respected  him  and  I  tried 
to  love  him ;  but  he  seemed  to  keep  his  love  for  others 
than  those  whom  he  employed  in  his  office ;  he  never  lav 
ished  any  of  it  on  me. 

"  But  let  me  be  brief.  In  an  unhappy  hour  I  came 
under  the  influence  of  others  whom  I  should  have  shunned. 
Only  think  of  it !  I  had  no  home,  no  friends  here  in  the 
city,  no  one  to  whom  I  could  look  for  direction  and  sym 
pathy.  What  is  the  wonder  then  that  the  most  vagrant 


A   PICTURE    OP    TROUBLE.  333 

and  accidental  influences  surrounded  and  finally  controlled 
me  ! 

"  I  was  tempted,  and  by  others  ;  and  I  fell.  My  crime 
was  forgery.  My  victim  was  my  employer.  He  who  had 
made  me  what  I  was,  and  created  for  my  heart  those  de 
lightful  prospects  that  it  took  such  a  deep,  deep  pleasure  in 
—  he  was  the  one  I  wronged.  And  from  t^e  day  of  my 
crime  till  this  day  I  have  not  ceased  to  repent  the  deed 
for  which  I  have  suffered  so  much. 

"  I  was  tried,  or  rather,  I  confessed  the  charge  brought 
against  me,  and  received  a  lighter  punishment  in  conse 
quence.  My  youth  likewise  plead  loudly  for  me,  and  so 
did  the  peculiarity  of  my  temptation.  I  was  sent  for  three 
long  years  to  the  State  Prison,  and  I  have  been  out  not 
yet  quite  a  month." 

Amy  could  not  help  shuddering  at  listening  to  the  end 
ing  of  his  recital.  The  State  Prison  was  a  gloomy  place, 
and  called  up  yet  more  gloomy  associations.  She  looked 
at  him  in  wonder.  He,  so  young,  so  frank  and  ingenuous, 
of  such  refined  and  gentlemanly  manners  —  he  the  gradu 
ate  of  the  State  Prison  !  Could  it  be  possible  ?  O,  how 
deeply,  in  that  one  moment  of  his  final  confession,  were 
her  sympathies  all  moved  for  him  !  His  sadness  was  no 
mystery  now.  It  was  not  strange  at  all  that  he  should 
have  gone  with  the  ragged  crowd  into  that  humble  abode, 
and  there  tried  to  make  his  own  wretchedness  feel  light 
by  comparison  with  that  which  he  witnessed.  Nothing 
marvellous  was  it,  either,  that  his  heart  should  have  bound- 


334  AMY    LEE. 

ed  with  an  impulse  of  living  joy  at  beholding  the  free  and 
disinterested  kindness  of  this  stranger  girl,  who  came  in 
only  to  do  good,  to  bind  up  the  wounds  of  broken  spirits, 
and  drop  words  of  cheer  and  comfort  into  wretched  hearts. 
Not  strange  that  that  youthful  stranger's  sympathy  should 
have  attracted  him  even  to  the  threshold  of  her  own  home, 
and  to  opening  to  her  the  secret  anguish  that  was  preying 
upon  him  like  a  vulture. 

"  Forgive  me  !  "  he  pleaded  again.  "  I  do  not  know  what 
I  am  doing,  in  bringing  this  great  trouble  of  mine  to  you, 
and  you  a  stranger.  Forgive  my  presumption,  I  beg  you. 
I  thought  I  might  get  sympathy  —  get  advice  —  get  some 
little  regard  —  O,if  only  ever  so  little  !  No  one  cares"  for 
me.  No  one  has  a  syllable  for  me.  No,  no,  I  am  nothing 
but  an  outcast  —  a  wretched,  wretched  outcast." 

There  was  wonderful  pathos  in  his  words.  Amy  was 
thrilled  with  the  sound  of  them.  She  saw  plainly  the 
sufferings  to  which  he  was  a  prey.  She  understood  the 
nature  of  the  terrible  disease  that  was  threatening  the 
health  and  the  life  of  his  soul.  And  making  a  great 
effort  to  control  her  feelings,  she  went  on  with  her  reply. 

She  expressed  the  deepest  sympathy  for  his  unfortunate 
condition.  She  begged  him  not  to  give  over  to  despair, 
but  to  live  in  patience  and  hope.  What  though  the  whole 
world  were  joined  against  him  —  there  was  nothing  to 
hinder  his  finding  a  friend  in  God.  She  pointed  to  him 
the  way.  She  showed  him  how  his  trials  would  all  prove 
themselves  to  have  been  his  best  teachers,  if  he  would  but 


A   PICTURE   OF   TROUBLE.  335 

read  their  lessons  aright ;  they  might  be  sad  lessons,  and 
very  hard  ones,  but  their  use  and  meaning  were  not  to  be 
mistaken.  And  she  besought  him  to  throw  off  his  thoughts 
of  fear,  of  mortification,  of  disgrace,  and  to  remember 
that  his  soul  was  great,  and  full  of  strength  yet,  and 
wholly  immortal.  It  would  not  be  manly  to  despair.  He 
owed  a  debt  to  himself,  that  he  would  never  be  excused 
from  discharging.  It  was  his  duty  to  forget  all  that  had 
happened,  to  place  himself  in  the  attitude  of  perfect  hu 
mility  before  his  Maker,  to  be  disregardful  utterly  of  the 
whip  that  pride  was  flourishing  over  his  head,  and  to 
gather  a  new  strength,  and  a  new  hope,  and  a  new  life 
from  the  promise  that  God  in  his  great  goodness  makes 
to  us  all  alike  —  the  bond  and  the  free,  the  innocent  and 
the  guilty. 

Her  words  manifestly  touched  him  as  no  words  had 
since  his  release  from  imprisonment.  He  seemed  to  bow 
right  down  under  them  without  a  single  murmur,  and  in 
his  heart  to  exclaim,  "  You  have  saved  me !  You  have 
saved  me  !  There  is  something  for  ~ne  to  live  for  yet ! " 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

DESPAIR. 

AMY  went  to  the  house  of  the  distressed  poor  family 
several  times  after  this  first  visit,  and  almost  every  time 
she  found  the  young  stranger  there.  He  always  greeted 
her  with  unaffected  cordiality,  though  his  countenance 
never  seemed  to  'be  free  from  the  shadow  of  his  great  sor 
row.  Sometimes  he  walked  along  home  by  Amy's  side, 
conversing  with  her  upon  his  feelings  and  his  situation. 
Her  words  appeared  to  do  him  a  great  deal  of  good. 
There  was  a  new  courage  in  them  for  him.  They  were 
the  words  of  a  trustful,  true,  and  thoroughly  brave  spirit. 

He  was  in  the  habit,  too,  of  soliciting  her  advice  respect 
ing  the  improvement  of  his  circumstances,  and  received  it, 
when  offered,  with  every  expression  of  gratitude.  He  felt 
that  she  was  stronger  than  himself;  that  her  thoughts 
were  readier  to  devise,  and  her  will  was  more  prompt  to 
execute ;  that  she  commanded  him  as  if  he  were  a  mere 
child  at  her  feet ;  and  that  her  strength  of  spirit  was  in 
comparably  superior  to  his  own.  Twice  she  had  pressed 
gifts  upon  his  acceptance,  so  that  he  could  not  find  the 
strength  or  the  courage  to  refuse  them.  She  knew  his 

(336) 


DESPAIR.  337 

needy  condition,  and  her  woman's  heart  did  not  hesitate 
to  perform  its  heavenly  duty.  She  did  not  wait  for  future 
opportunities  to  be  doing  good  with  her  limited  means, 
but  went  about  it  without  any  hesitation  now. 

For  several  days  it  happened  that  she  had  not  seen 
him,  though  she  called  very  regularly  at  the  poor  man's 
dwelling.  He  had  stopped  going  there  altogether.  Her 
thoughts  were  busy  in  trying  to  conjecture  what  could 
have  become  of  him.  She  was  beset  at  times  with  the 
most  unhappy  fears  lest  an  untoward  fate  might  have 
overtaken  him.  Into  every  face  that  she  met  on  her  way 
along  the  street  she  looked  with  an  eager  and  excited 
interest,  hoping  at  the  last  by  a  happy  accident  to  recog 
nize  his  own.  But  her  search  was  vain. 

It  was  a  balmy  day  in  the  very  last  of  the  spring,  and 
all  her  daily  duties  were  over.  She  felt  as  if  she  would 
like  a  little  recreation  and  fresh  air,  and  so  walked  over 
to  the  Common.  The  moment  she  passed  between  the 
iron  posts,  and  stepped  upon  the  broad,  smooth  mall,  a 
sense  of  freshness  and  freedom  stole  into  her  heart,  and 
she  felt  in  that  instant  the  inflowing  tide  of  an  almost  new 
existence.  The  broad  trees  swung  their  branches  over  her 
head,  forming  an  arbor  wherever  she  went.  The  shadows 
of  their  green  leaves  were  scattered  over  the  ground, 
making  all  about  her  the  picture  of  a  most  fanciful  mosaic. 
From  over  the  grass-crowned  knolls  came  breaths  of  fra 
grance,  and  breezes  from  the  water,  that  seemed  to  search 
29 


338  AMY    LEE. 

her  very  heart.  Her  eyes  caught  the  vision  of  the  leaping 
spray  of  the  fountain,  and  sparkled  with  pure  delight. 

Slowly  she  wandered  along,  occupied  chiefly  with  her 
thoughts.  Without  knowing  how  far  she  had  been  walk 
ing,  she  discovered  at  length  that  she  had  completed  the 
entire  circuit  of  the  Common.  Already  she  was  approach 
ing  the  little  burying  ground  —  that  saddening,  yet  most 
pleasant  spot,  within  the  large  enclosure  ;  and  in  obedience 
to  the  instincts  of  her  nature,  she  slackened  her  pace  to 
one  of  more  deliberateness.  Her  eyes  roamed  among  the 
crowded  hillocks,  and  took  a  sweet  and  melancholy  delight 
in  the  fresh  green  grass  that  was  creeping  silently  over 
them. 

She  chanced  to  throw  a  glance  at  one  of  the  benches 
near  by,  and  saw  a  person  whose  manner  and  posture  par 
ticularly  impressed  her.  He  sat  facing  the  place  of  the 
graves,  and  with  his  back  turned  to  the  passers.  His 
head  was  down,  and  his  eyes  were  on  the  ground.  Some 
thing  led  Amy  irresistibly  nearer  to  him.  He  heard  the 
approaching  footsteps,  and  half  looked  up.  The  move 
ment  seemed  altogether  mechanical,  and  might  have  been 
the  habit  of  his  fear. 

In  an  instant  she  recognized  the  face.  It  was  that  of 
the  friendless  outcast  who  had  told  her  of  his  woes. 

She  walked  to  the  bench  very  deliberately,  and  stood 
beside  him.  He  looked  up.  His  face  expressed  both 
sorrow  and  fear.  It  was  a  very  strange  look,  but  it  was 
the  true  betrayal  of  the  feelings  that  then  ruled  his  heart. 


DESPAIR.  339 

"I  had  thought  I  might  never  see  you  again,"  said 
Amy,  kindly  and  cheerfully.  "I  wondered  what  had 
become  of  you." 

He  shook  his  head  sadly. 

"  No  one  in  the  wide  world  knows  my  agony,"  he  an 
swered  in  a  hollow  voice.  "  I  have  told  you  more  than  I 
ever  told  any  one  else,  and  may  God  reward  you  for  your 
sympathy.  I  know  you  would  do  for  me  what  no  one 
else  would ;  but  even  all  that  cannot  hold  me  up.  I  am 
sinking  down  every  hour.  How  long  I  may  hold  out,  O, 
who  can  tell?  I  do  not  know  that  myself.  The  very 
recollection  of  your  kindness  only  gives  me  the  deeper 
despair.  From  the  pure  heights  of  your  sympathy  I  look 
down  into  the  abyss  of  my  own  misery,  and  shudder  —  O, 
my  very  flesh  creeps.  God  help  me  !  If  I  was  only  good ! 
If  I  could  but  find  relief!" 

Amy  saw  that  the  great  drops  of  perspiration  were 
standing  thickly  on  his  forehead,  and  that  his  hands  were 
tremulous  with  excitement. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  she,  as  calmly  as  possible,  "  that 
you  will  not  yet  submit  to  the  Power  that  holds  all  these 
earthly  dispensations  in  his  hands.  Can  you  not  believe 
that  out  of  this  temporary  evil  much  lasting  good  may 
result  ?  Can  you  not  in  trust  put  the  dark  Past  behind 
your  back,  and  live  only  in  a  peaceful,  holy,  and  prayerful 
Present  ?  Rouse  yourself  now  ;  shake  off  the  weight  of 
this  morbid  fear ;  open  your  soul  to  the  sweet  influences 
that  are  all  around  you  ;  and  resolve  that  with  one  manly 


340  AMY    LEE. 

effort  you  will  be  free.  I  know  that  you  have  suffered ; 
but  that  surely  can  be  no  reason  why  you  should  expect 
always  to  suffer.  Why  will  you  let  only  wretchedness 
into  your  heart  ?  Why  will  you  not  try  and  form  a  league 
with  hope,  and  let  despair  go  forever  ?  " 

"  O,  if  you  could  look  into  my  heart,  and  there  read 
all !  If  you  could  understand  just  how  I  am  made  to  suf 
fer  every  day ! " 

"  I  do  try  to  read  your  feelings,"  answered  Amy,  sym- 
pathizingly. 

"  I  know  you  do  ;  I  know  you  do ;  but  "still  you  cannot 
see  the  whole.  Only  this  day  I  have  gone  through  with 
what  I  never  thought  I  could,  and  what  I  would  sooner 
die  than  go  through  again." 

Amy  looked  at  the  wild  expression  of  his  face  with 
perfect  astonishment. 

"  I  have  been,  this  very  afternoon,"  said  he,  lowering 
his  voice  till  it  sounded  in  that  place  even  sepulchral,  "  to 
the  house  of  the  man  I  once  wronged.  I  resolved  to  go 
and  tell  him  all  my  feelings,  and  to  ask  him  to  forgive  me. 
He  was  not  at  home  himself,  but  I  was  shown  in.  His 
daughter  came  into  the  room.  I  had  known  her  before 
my  fall,  and  I  was  blessed  in  the  consciousness  of  her  love. 
I  had  not  seen  her  since  the  occurrence  that  publicly 
branded  me  as  a  criminal.  You  may  not  believe  me  when 
I  tell  you  of  the  wild  joy  with  which  my  heart  leaped  up 
to  greet  her  again.  I  was  almost  beside  myself.  It  seemed 
to  me  a  happy  providence  that  had  brought  me  to  her 


DESPAIE.  •       341 

before  I  saw  her  father.  I  felt  that  my  brain  was  swim 
ming,  and  I  could  not  see  the  objects  in  the  room  dis 
tinctly  ;  yet  I  rose  to  greet  her  as  I  used  to  greet  her  in 
the  old  days  that  are  gone,  and  to  beseech  her  to  forgive 
me  the  terrible  wound  I  had  given  her  feelings.  She 
stood  like  a  statue,  fixed  in  the  attitude  of  astonishment 
and  anger.  All  the  better  feelings  of  my  heart  set  back 
in  one  mighty  tide  of  revulsion  ;  and  my  anger,  my  bro 
ken  pride,  my  humiliated  spirit,  and  my  strong  despair 
fairly  overwhelmed  me.  I  could  have  died  in  that  mo 
ment,  and  felt  that  death  was  a  welcome  gift.  She  stood 
there  and  spurned  me.  She  cast  my  guilt  cruelly  in  my 
face.  She  asked  me  how  I  dared  enter  their  house  after  I 
had  been  the  inmate  of  a  prison.  She  heaped  upon  me 
all  the  words  of  burning  scorn  that  she  could  command, 
and  finally  ordered  me  from  the  room  and  the  house. 

"  At  that  moment  her  father  came  in.  Now,  I  thought, 
I  could  find  one  corner  of  a  heart  that  might  pity  me. 
Ah,  if  you  could  only  have  seen  how  the  manner  and  the 
look  of  that  man  suddenly  changed.  First  he  looked  at 
me,  and  then  at  his  daughter.  He  was  about  to  ask  how 
I  came  there,  when  she  interrupted  him.  She  told  him 
of  my  daring  presumption,  and  that  she  had  already  or 
dered  me  to  leave  the  house.  Then  he  turned  full  upon 
me.  "  Why  did  you  not  go,  sir  ?  "  said  he.  I  approached 
him,  feeling  that  I  owed  him  a  greater  debt  than  I  could 
ever  hope  to  repay,  yet  trying  at  the  same  time  to  feel 
that  I  was  still  a  man,  and  still  possessed  a  priceless  souL> 
29* 


342  AMY   LEE. 

With  as  humble  words  as  I  could  command  I  begged  him 
to  pass  over  my  fault,  and  to  assure  me  that  at  least  I  had 
his  forgiveness.  That  would  do  much  to  calm  my  feel 
ings,  and  to  make  me  happy.  If  you  could  have  heard 
his  language  !  You  certainly  must  have  thought  that  the 
house  at  that  moment  held  a  murderer,  and  that  he  was 
almost  insane  in  his  exertions  to  expel  him.  He  turned 
upon  me  like  a  fury.  With  the  fiercest  language  he  up 
braided  me  with  my  crime,  and  then  asked  me  how  I 
dared  show  myself  again  to  him.  He  waved  his  arm  to 
me  with  a  show  of  commanding  authority,  and  bade  me 
leave  his  presence.  It  was  of  no  use  for  me  to  plead.  It 
was  foolish  for  me  to  stand  there  and  try  to  employ  rea 
son,  or  persuasion,  or  even  petition.  I  bowed  my  head  ; 
and  as  1  went  out,  in  my  heart  I  felt  that  for  the  whole 
world  I  would  not  change  places  with  him.  May  God 
forgive  him  —  and  forgive  her  too  !  O,  if  they  only  knew 
the  depth  of  wretchedness  into  which  their  words  have 
plunged  me ! 

"  I  came  out  into  the  open  air,  and  I  thought  I  might 
feel  better.  I  tried  to  silence  these  loud  accusations  of 
my  feelings  —  to  quiet  this  frenzied  beating  of  my  heart 
—  to  cool  this  feverish  throbbing  of  my  pulses.  But  every 
moment  only  adds  to  my  misery.  I  cannot  live  —  I  do 
not  wish  to  live.  I  have  come  here  to  die  —  to  pass  away 
out  of  this  shadow  of  my  troubles  —  here,  in  sight  of  these 
graves  —  and  be  forever  free." 

And  while  he  spoke,  he  drew  forth  a  vial  from  his  vest 
pocket,  labelled  "  Prussic  Acid." 


DESPAIR.  843 

"  0,  no,"  gently  said  Amy,  sitting  down  now  at  his 
side,  and  taking  it  unresistingly  out  of  his  hand  ;  "  O,  no, 
indeed ;  don't  think  of  that ;  it  would  not  be  manly ; 
it  would  certainly  be  cowardly.  Only  stop  and  think  a 
moment.  Your  life  does  not  belong  to  you  to  take  ;  it  is 
the  property  of  another.  He  will  ask  it  as  soon  as  he  has 
wrought  out  his  work  through  you  here.  Let  me  keep 
this  stuff.  You  are  not  well  now  ;  but  you  will  be  better 
soon.  I  have  great  faith  in  your  lofty  manhood,  and 
I  believe  that  you  will  not  disappoint  me.  Here,"  —  and 
she  took  out  some  money  from  her  purse,  —  "  you  shall  not 
want  so  long  as  my  poor  means  can  supply.  Take  this 
from  me,  and  do  not  forget  my  words,  or  my  friendship." 

He  would  not  receive  the  gift  into  his  hand ;  so  she 
thrust  it  into  his  pocket. 

"  It  isn't  much,"  said  she ;  "  but  it  will  keep  you  from 
downright  want." 

"  Heaven  bless  you,  my  "best  friend ! "  he  exclaimed, 
clasping  his  hands  prayerfully.  "  O,  to  think  of  it !  —  to 
think  that  in  all  this  crowded  city,  where  there  is  so  much 
wealth,  so  much  pretended  sympathy,  so  much  vaunted 
charity,  you  alone  of  its  tens  of  thousands  are  ready  to 
extend  help  to  a  sufferer  like  me  !  I  would  not  have  be 
lieved  once  that  such  things  are  true.  I  would  not  once 
have  thought  that  love,  and  charity,  and  tenderest  sym 
pathy  are  to  be  found  in  hearts  that  the  proud  world  knows 
nothing  of.  Heaven  bless  you !  Heaven  bless  you !  I 
will  live  now,  if  only  for  the  sake  of  a  noble  woman  like 


344  AMY    LEE. 

you.  I  will  try  and  raise  myself  from  this  awful  pit  into 
which  my  own  crime  has  thrown  me." 

"  Live  rather  for  yourself"  said  Amy,  in  her  singularly 
bewitching  voice.  "  You  have  a  soul  that  a  single  crime 
like  this  should  not  be  allowed  to  destroy.  Do  not  throw 
away  your  better  self  merely  because  you  may  have  fallen 
too  readily  into  temptation  at  the  beginning.  You  do  not 
yet  know  the  priceless  value  of  your  faculties.  You  do 
not  comprehend  the  vastness  and  the  grandeur  of  your 
destiny.  And  now  to  give  up  every  hope,  every  aspira 
tion,  every  noble  effort,  all  the  riches  of  a  heart  whose 
wealth  is  yet  unexplored,  all  the  deep,  deep  satisfactions 
that  this  life,  if  truly  lived,  is  able  to  yield  on  every 
side,  —  to  give  over  all  these,  because,  in  an  unfortunate 
hour,  you  yielded  to  a  temptation  that  drew  after  it  a 
public  disgrace,  is  without  reason  or  faith.  You  must  not 
do  it.  You  must  raise  yourself  above  these  feelings,  and 
put  them  beneath  your  feet." 

"  O,  if  others  would  talk  to  me  about  it  as  you  talk  !  " 
he  groaned  out. 

"  Mind  not  what  others  say.  Possess  only  your  own 
soul.  No  one  can  injure  you  but  yourself.  You  can  find 
no  such  foe  to  your  peace  any  where  as  you  will  find  in 
your  own  breast.  Again  I  beg  you,  do  not  be  troubled 
about  the  speech  of  others.  Some  talk  idly,  meaning 
nothing  at  all.  Some  talk  with  malice,  and  they  are  to 
be  pitied  for  the  blindness  that  their  passions  create. 
Some  are  mere  echoers  of  what  they  hear  others  say.  They 


DESPAIE.  845 

are  not  to  be  cared  for.  Do  not  be  troubled  at  the  most 
that  people  can  say.  Do  not  think  to  live  to  the  opinions,, 
or  the  speeches,  or  the  whims  of  others,  but  find  only  the 
centre  of  your  own  individual  being,  and  there  reside  with 
calmness  and  hope.  O,  if  you  will  but  make  yourself  at 
one  with  God  —  will  only  put  forth  your  own  purposes 
in  perfect  harmony  with  his  purposes  —  will  pluck  out 
pride,  and  fear,  and  an  unmanly  cowardice  from  your 
heart,  and  throw  your  whole  life  into  the  circuit  of  the 
divine  laws  that  move  within  and  around  us  all  —  you 
cannot  but  be  happy  —  you  must  be  happy  !  This  anxiety 
about  what  the  world  says,  and  what  the  world  thinks, 
will  vanish  away  like  a  mist  in  the  morning.  You  will 
come  up  into  a  clearer,  and  a  rarer,  and  a  purer  atmos 
phere.  You  will  rather  draw  the  world  to  you,  for  very 
shame  at  the  conviction  of  its  own  meanness  and  in 
feriority.  Men  will  not  point  the  finger  of  affected  scorn 
at  you  as  you  pass ;  they  will  secretly  pray  for  the  pos 
session  of  that  indescribable  beauty  and  that  priceless 
peace  that  so  openly  adorn  your  life." 

He  groaned  again ;  but  his  face  wore  a  jubilant  and  a 
heroic  expression. 

"And  you  will  look  at  your  trials,  your  temptations, 
yes,  even  to  your  past  disgraces,  with  an  undisturbed 
spirit,  feeling  that  out  of  all  these  many  tribulations,  and 
these  manifold  woes,  you  have  come  into  a  kingdom 
where  they  are  not  admitted.  You  will  thank  God  for- 
tver  for  every  thing  he  sends  you,  because  you  will 


346  AMY   LEE. 

believe  from  the  depths  of  your  heart  that  all  comes  for 
your  highest  good.  This  is  life  —  this  is  the  true  life 
here.  Others  will  behold  it,  and  the  dark  corners  where 
their  passions  and  fears  were  wont  to  lurk  will  be  illu 
minated  with  its  steady  light.  Come ;  let  us  not  think 
of  the  past  any  longer.  Let  us  live  in  a  better  present 
from  this  moment  forward." 

"  You  have  saved  me ;  O,  you  have  saved  me  ! "  he 
cried,  clasping  his  hands  together,  while  the  tears  rolled 
down  his  cheeks.  "  God  reward  you ;  J  never  can." 

In  that  moment  Amy  felt  that  she  would  not  have 
changed  places  with  the  mightiest  potentate  that  is 
throned  on  the  face  of  the  earth. 


CHAPTER     XXXI. 
CARRYING  A  MATTER  HOME. 

THE  very  next  afternoon,  after  little  Mary  Braggins's 
music  lesson  was  over,  and  while  Amy  was  preparing  to 
take  her  departure  from  the  house,  the  door  of  the  room 
opened,  and  Ellen  came  in.  She  accosted  Amy  in  a 
very  friendly  way,  and  sat  down  not  far  from  her,  as  if  to 
engage  her  in  a  few  minutes'  conversation. 

Their  remarks  rambled  off  from  one  topic  to  another, 
without  any  definite  purpose,  taking  in  all  things,  from 
the  last  piece  of  music  Mary  had  learned  to  play,  to  that 
threadbare  topic,  the  weather.  It  was  a  beautiful  day, 
and  the  windows  were  opened  to  let  in  the  fresh  air  that 
came  every  where  with  its  fragrant  blessings. 

Speaking  of  one  thing  and  another,  Amy  finally  hap 
pened  to  allude  to  the  family  of  the  poor  man  who  had 
been  hurt  by  the  fall  of  the  building.  Without  meaning 
to  make  any  boast  of  her  own  charity,  she  was  detailing 
the  manner  in  which  her  sympathies  had  been  excited; 
and  she  went  on  to  say  that  she  had  called  on  them  regu 
larly  ever  since  the  day  of  the  accident,  and  done  what 
little  she  could  for  them. 

(347) 


348  AMY    LEE. 

Ellen  put  her  many  questions  respecting  them,  appear 
ing  greatly  'interested ;  and  after  Amy  had  satisfied  her 
with  answers  to  all  of  them,  she  rose  and  went  out  of  the 
room.  In  a  few  minutes  she  came  back,  and  placed  in 
Amy's  hand  some  bank  bills. 

"  I  wish  you  would  dispense  these  among  them,"  said 
ihe,  "just  according  to  your  own  judgment.  You  know 
exactly  what  they  need." 

Amy  looked  both  surprised  and  joyful. 

"  But  hadn't  you  better  go  and  perform  this  kindness  to 
them  yourself?  "  she  asked.  "  I  will  gladly  show  you  the 
way.  You  will  make  their  hearts  thus  ten  times  happy." 

But  Ellen  chose  to  be  an  unknown  almoner.  She  said 
she  was  perfectly  willing  that  her  friend  should  have  all 
the  credit. 

Amy  answered  that  credit  was  not  what  she  desired. 
The  true  reward  of  a  good  deed  was  the  inward  satisfac 
tion  that  never  failed  to  accompany  it. 

Yet  Ellen  insisted  that  she  should  carry  them  her  offer 
ing  this  time,  and  at  some  other  she  would  be  very  glad 
to  accompany  her  on  her  errand  of  kindness. 

Amy  could  not  make  this  case  of  trouble  known  without 
likewise  alluding  to  another ;  that  singular  one  which  had 
there,  by  the  strangest  accident  in  the  world,  been  revealed 
to  her. 

"  I  found,"  said  she,  her  face  betraying  by  its  heightened 
color  the  interest  her  heart  took  in  the  subject  of  her  nar 
rative,  —  "I  found  a  young  man,  a  perfect  stranger,  sitting 


CARRYING   A   MATTER    HOME.  349 

at  this  poor  laborer's  bedside,  watching  by  him  as  tenderly 
as  if  he  were  his  own  father." 

"  And  he  was  a  stranger  1 "  questioned  Ellen.  "  Wasn't 
he  related  at  all  to  this  poor  man  ?  " 

"  No,  he  had  not  even  seen  him  before.  I  did  not  know 
who  he  was,  or  where  he  came  from.  But  there  he  sat, 
over  that  sufferer,  and  watched  him  with  all  the  anxious 
tenderness  of  a  son." 

"  How  strange !  I  declare,  there  is  something  like  a 
little  romance  there  —  isn't  there  ?  Was  he  well  dressed  ? 
or  did  he  appear  to  belong  to  that  same  class  of  people  ?  " 

"Yes,  he  was  quite  well  dressed  —  neatly  and  taste 
fully,  though  not  at  all  richly.  But  his  countenance  be 
trayed  him  better  than  any  garments  could.  That  was 
refined  and  saddened.  Its  expression  was  very  interesting 
indeed.  I  could  not  help  studying  it  closely." 

"  How  strange  !  isn't  it  ?  "  a  second  time  said  Ellen. 
"  But  did  you  ever  see  him  there  at  the  man's  bedside 
again  ?  " 

"  Day  after  day  I  met  him  there,  always  in  the  same 
place  —  always  bending  over  the  sufferer  with  the  same 
look  of  tender  solicitude  ;  till  one  day  I  missed  him." 

"  And  never  saw  him  again  ?  "  quickly  asked  Ellen. 

*'  O,  yes ;  I  saw  him  afterwards ;  but  it  was  not  till 
several  days  had  elapsed." 

"  Pray,  where  did  you  see  him  then  ?  How  did  you 
find  him  ? " 

Ellen's  feelings  manifestly  were  deeply  enlisted  in  the 


350  AMY   LEE. 

narrative  of  her  friend.  She  folded  together  her  arms 
very  tightly,  and  looked  eagerly  in  Amy's  face  with  great 
impatience.  , 

"  Indeed,"  said  she,  "  I  confess  I  am  quite  interested  in 
this  person.  I  wish  I  could  see  him,  and  know  more  about 
him.  Where  did  you  say  you  saw  him  the  next  time  ? 
What  did  he  say  about  himself?  " 

"  I  saw  him  sitting  on  one  of  the  little  benches  on  the 
Common,"  said  Amy,  "  near  the  old  burying  ground.  He 
was  sad  and  downcast  enough." 

"  Poor  fellow !  I  pity  him !  What  was  the  matter  ? 
What  was  his  great  sorrow  ?  Did  you  ever  learn  ?  " 

"  O,  he  told  me,  —  for  I  went  up  and  accosted  him,  — 
he  told  me  that  he  was  in  very  great  distress " 

"  So  poor,  I  suppose." 

•'  No ;  but  distress  of  mind.  He  cared  nothing  for 
poverty,  and  said  that  was  the  last  thing  that  troubled 
him." 

"  What  a  brave  spirit ! " 

"  You  shall  better  judge  whether  he  was  then  so  very 
brave  or  not.  He  said,  as  I  put  him  one  question  after 
another,  that  he  could  not  live,  and  did  not  know  as  he 
wished  to.  Life  had  no  charm  for  him.  His  heart  was 
burned  to  dry  ashes  with  the  fierce  flames  of  his  passionate 
sufferings." 

"  Poor  creature  !  Lost  all  his  friends,  I  suppose.  Or 
perhaps  the  one  heart  he  had  loved  now  repulsed  him  and 
scorned  him." 


CARRYING   A  MATTER   HOME.  ^51 

"  Yes,  that  was  the  last  blow  from  which  he  had  suf 
fered,"  said  Amy. 

"  Did  he  —  did  he  confess  to  you  as  much  as  that  ?  " 
quickly  asked  Ellen,  her  face  turning  pallid  with  the  re 
membrance  of  her  own  cruelty  (though  she  did  not  deem 
it  so)  to  one  who  had  once  so  loved  her.  "  Did  he  tell 
you  that  ?  "  she  repeated,  with  some  excitement. 

"  Yes  ;  and  even  more  — more  than  I  ought  to  tell  you, 
I  think,  and  more  than  I  can  tell  you.  You  can  infer 
what  his  wretchedness  was  from  what  I  have  already  nar 
rated." 

"  O,  yes,  indeed  ;  yes,  indeed.  Poor  creature  !  How 
few  there  are  in  the  world,"  she  moralized,  feelingly, 
"  who  know  any  thing  of  the  distress  of  others  !  How 
very,  very  few  there  are  ! " 

And  she  threw  her  eyes  down  upon  the  floor,  and 
seemed  lost  in  thought. 

"  But  I  made  one  discovery,"  continued  Amy,  "  that 
startled  me.  He  drew  from  his  pocket  a  vial  containing 
deadly  poison,  and  said  that  he  had  taken  his  seat  there 
by  that  burying  ground  to  destroy  his  life." 

Ellen  shuddered,  caught  her  breath  in  horror,  and  lifted 
up  her  hands. 

"  He  went  there  to  commit  suicide  ! "  she  exclaimed. 

"  Yes.  He  was  tired  of  life — his  friends  had  all  de 
serted  him  —  he  was  entirely  alone  in  the  world  —  there 
were  no  prospects  before  him  —  and  he  had  no  living  hope 
in  his  heart ;  and  he  had  resolved  to  get  rid  of  his  trou- 


352  AMY    LEE. 

bles,  he  told  me,  in  one  brief  moment.  The  treatment  of 
her  whom  he  loved  had  more  immediately  driven  him  to 
this  resolution.  So  he  confessed.  He  could  have  borne 
every  thing  else  but  that,  —  penury,  distress,  friendless- 
ness,  beggary,  even,  —  so  she  would  not  cast  him  away. 
His  heart  appeared  to  be  utterly  gone.  His  spirits  were 
wholly  broken.  He  could  scarcely  lift  his  head  and  look 
me  directly  in  the  face.  I  pitied  him  as  I  never  pitied 
a  wretched  sufferer  before." 

"I  should. have  thought  you  would,  indeed.  But  did 
he  say  nothing  to  you  about  his  early  life  ?  Did  he  not 
tell  you  of  his  troubles  —  of  what  had  brought  all  this 
grief  upon  him  ?  Was  that  all  kept  to  himself?  " 

"•No  ;  he  confessed  every  thing  to  me.  He  said  he  had 
nothing  in  the  world  to  keep  back." 

"  Indeed  !  "  exclaimed  Ellen. 

She  moved  uneasily  in  her  chair,  betraying  the  eager 
ness  she  really  felt  to  get  at  the  entire  story.  Something 
whispered  mysteriously  to  her  heart  that  this  history  held 
a  lesson  in  its  brief  pages  for  her.  Something  told  her  of 
a  wrong  that  she  might  herself,  in  a  hasty  moment,  have 
done  another,  for  which  no  sort  of  recompense  had  yet 
been  made. 

"  He  was  quite  young,  you  say  ?  "  she  inquired  again, 
as  if  to  make  herself  sure  on  every  point. 

"  Yes,  not  more  than  twenty-four  or  five  ;  and  his  face, 
it  seemed  to  me,  hardly  confessed  to  as  much  as  that. 
Early  in  life,  he  said,  he  was  put  into  the  service  of  a 


CARRYING  A  MATTER  HOME.  353 

merchant  in  this  city.  He  went  along  with  great  promise, 
and  received  promotion  very  steadily.  He  was  liked  by 
his  employer,  and  he  had  many  friends.  He  gave  his 
heart  finally  to  his  employer's  daughter,  —  the  child  of 
that  merchant,  who  was  a  proud  man,  though  the  very 
soul  of  commercial  honor,  —  and  he  felt  happy  in  being 
assured  of  her  love.  Time  passed  lightly,  and  each  year 
seemed  to  open  to  him  new  prospects.  But  suddenly  he 
fell ! " 

"  Fell  !  "  exclaimed  Ellen,  under  her  breath  almost. 

"  Alas,  it  is  too  true !  He  had  not  strength  to  with 
stand  temptation." 

"  What  did  he  do  ?  "  Ellen  inquired  very  rapidly,  her 
face  alternately  flushing  with  heat  and  turning  white  like 
marble. 

"  He  confessed  it  all  to  me.  It  was  not  a  tale  that 
under  other  circumstances  I  would  have  liked  to  hear,  but 
I  was  very  deeply  interested  in  him.  Being  in  the  midst 
of  temptations  that  he  could  not  resist,  he  gave  up  to 
them  at  once,  and  became  a  criminal  by  committing  for- 
gery." 

'*  How  strange !  "  gasped  Ellen,  clutching  hold  of  the 
back  of  her  chair. 

Amy  could  not  but  observe  her  excitement  now  with 
surprise. 

"  Forgery !  "  again  exclaimed  Ellen,  in  a  falling 
voice. 

"  It's  a  crime  that  usually  brands  a  person  with  a  pretty 
30* 


354  A.MY    LEE. 

deep  mark,  so  far  as  the  opinion  of  the  public  is  con 
cerned,"  said  Amy. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  answered  Ellen,  fetching  a  very  long 
and  difficult  breath.  "  Yes,  indeed." 

"  But  what  has  followed  since  his  liberation  from  prison 
has  interested  me  more  than  all  the  rest.  It  appears  that 
he  loved  the  daughter  of  the  merchant  with  whom  he  had 
been  placed  —  the  daughter  of  the  man  whose  name  he  so 
wrongfully  counterfeited " 

"  Is  it  possible !  is  it  possible ! "  interrupted  Ellen, 
starting  forward  in  her  seat.  "  Can  it  be  that " 

"And  not  long  after  obtaining  his  freedom,  and  not 
very  long  ago  was  i't,  either,  he  went  to  the  house  of  that 
merchant,  determined  first  of  all  to  ask  his  forgiveness, 
and  then  to  beg  to  be  forgiven  by  her  whose  heart  he  had 
so  wronged  beyond  the  power  of  reparation,  but  whom  he 
still  loved  as  he  could  not  again  love  another." 

"  Went  to  see  her  !  " 

"  The  father,  he  said,  was  not  at  the  moment  in ;  but 
the  daughter  came  into  the  room,  and  at  once  recognized 
him.  He  was  ready  to  throw  himself  a  suppliant  at  her 
feet  —  humble,  repentant,  and  quite  heart-broken.  He 
would  have  performed  almost  any  office,  however  menial 
or  servile,  if  only  by  the  means  he  could  be  assured  of  her 
forgiveness  and  favor.  To  her  hand  and  her  heart  he  felt 
that  he  had  forfeited  all  right.  All  he  besought  was  her 
forgiveness.  He  knew  that  he  had  wronged  her,  and  how 
much  he  had  wronged  her.  Though  he  yet  loved  her  better 


CABBYING  A  MATTER   HOME.  355 

than  his  own  life,  still  he  would  never  think  or  dare  to 
be  loved  by  her  in  return.  With  these  feelings,  humble 
and  contrite  from  the  bottom  of  his  soul,  he  stood  in  that 
girl's  presence,  waiting  to  hear  one  single  syllable  from 
her  lips  that  would  drop  a  balm  like  that  of  forgiveness. 
But  she  knit  her  brow,  and  spurned  him  angrily.  She 
asked  him  how  he  had  dared  to  enter  a  house  upon  which 
he  had  brought  nothing  but  disgrace  by  his  conduct  and 
connection.  She  cast  his  late  act  of  criminality  in  his 
teet'a,  and  ordered  him  out  of  the  room. 

"  At  that  moment  her  father  came  in.  Since  the  day 
when  the  young  man  had  been  convicted  of  his  crime  in 
the  public  court  room  he  had  not  seen  the  merchant  once. 
But  they  recognized  one  another  in  an  instant.  Before  he 
could  say  for  what  ^he  had  come  there,  his  old  employer 
angrily  bade  him  instantly  leave  the  house.  There  was 
nothing  to  be  answered  to  this  —  there  was  no  earthly 
alternative  but  to  go.  And  without  a  syllable  of  protest 
or  murmur,  feeling  that  his  severe  punishment  was  all  de 
served,  yet  heart-broken,  and  lost  to  the  strength  of  any 
further  hope  or  resolution,  he  went  out  the  door  in  silence, 
and  procuring  poison,  resolved  at  once  to  destroy  himself. 
I  found  him,  by  a  good  providence,  just  at  this  most  un 
happy  crisis  of  his  life,  and  my  words  and  my  spirit,  under 
God,  had  the  power  to  arouse  him  to  a  new  purpose.  He 
blessed  me  as  we  separated,  and  said  that  I  had  saved  his 
life  —  that  henceforth  he  would  live,  if  only  to  do  honor 
to  the  single  heart  that  had  shown  him  sympathy  when 
he  most  needed  it." 


356  AMY   LEE. 

Amy  paused.  She  had  finished  her  pathetic  recital. 
But  as  she  looked  over  at  Ellen,  she  discovered  that  her 
head  was  bowed  down,  and  her  face  was  buried  in  her 
hands.  She  sobbed  and  moaned  most  tearfully. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  what  is  the  matter  ?  "  quickly 
inquired  Amy. 

"  O,  Heaven  forgive  me  !  J  have  been  false,  and  you  — 
you,  a  stranger  —  have  been  true  !  " 

And  she  threw  herself  at  her  length  upon  the  sofa,  and 
wept  as  if  she  would  not  be  pacified. 

The  young  man  was  the  clerk  of  her  own  father ;  and 
hers  was  the  heart  that  had  in  that  terrible  crisis  spurned 
him ! 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

ONCE  AGAIN. 

FROM  this  time  forth,  the  visits  of  Amy  upon  Ellen  were 
voluntarily  multiplied.  She  went  to  the  house  when  any 
thing  rather  than  a  music  lesson  summoned  her.  Ellen 
loved  her  society  now,  and  their  talk  was  at  every  visit 
protracted  and  confidential.  Of  course  it  was  chiefly  of 
the  one  whose  name,  hitherto  quite  unknown  to  Amy,  had 
been  mixed  so  intimately  in  with  the  affairs  of  the  family. 

One  morning  Amy  sat  alone  in  the  parlor  with  her 
friend,  who  now  seemed  to  look  up  to  her  loftier  and  purer 
character  for  very  guidance  in  her  complicated  troubles, 
when  the  door  opened  from  the  hall,  and  a  gentleman  was 
ushered  in  by  the  servant. 

From  the  manner  in  which  he  came  forward  and  accosted 
Ellen,  it  was  manifest  that  he  was  an  old  friend  and  ac 
quaintance,  and  admitted  without  much  ceremony  to  the 
privileges  of  the  house.  Though  Ellen  received  him  with 
much  cordiality  and  frankness,  yet  there  was  perceptible 
in  her  manner  a  certain  self-possessedness,  if  not  reserve, 
that  seemed  altogether  new  to  this  present  occasion.  Amy 
herself  could  not  help  remarking  it. 

(357) 


358  AMY  LEE. 

Scarcely  had  the  gentleman  gone  through  with  his  greet 
ing,  when  he  threw  his  glance  over  to  where  Amy  was 
sitting,  and  Ellen  stepped  back  to  perform  what  is  gen 
erally  called  an  "  introduction." 

"  This  is  my  friend,  Miss  Lee,  Mr.  Clendenning,"  said 
Ellen,  in  all  simplicity  and  sincerity. 

At  first  he  drew  back  peremptorily.  Then  his  familiar 
ity  with  the  iron  customs  of  a  false  society  came  to  his 
relief,  and  he  even  passed  to  the  other  extreme  of  feeling, 
and  walked  up  to  Amy,  offering  her  his  hand. 

She  rose,  respectfully  bowed,  said  not  a  word  by  way 
of  salutation,  and  persistently  kept  her  hands  at  her  side. 
This  was  indeed  chilling.  Ellen  observed  the  gentleman's 
sudden  embarrassment,  and  was  perfectly  amazed  at  Amy's 
manner,  for  it  was  totally  unaccountable.  Yet  she  could 
not  speak.  No  syllables  of  hers  were  allowed  to  interpose 
in  a  situation  so  unexpected. 

He  recovered  himself  the  best  way  he  was  able,  and 
went  and  sat  down  not  far  from  Ellen.  Yet  he  was  by  no 
means  at  his  ease.  Even  his  assurance  was  not  broad 
enough  and  long  enough  to  cover  the  chagrin  of  this  mo 
ment.  Still  he  did  the  best  he  could.  No  one  would  be 
likely  to  envy  him,  however,  let  him  do  the  best  he  might. 

So  he  began  —  to  Ellen  only,  of  course  —  about  the 
weather.  What  a  lovely  morning  it  was  !  How  inspirit 
ing  all  the  world  out  of  doors  looked  and  felt !  What  a 
life  there  was  in  every  thing  !  What  fragrance  in  the  at 
mosphere,  though  it  bathed  only  brick  walls,  and  drew 


ONCE   AGAIN.  359 

through  no  passages  but  the  stony  streets !  How  changed 
men's  faces  seemed  that  morning,  and  how  changed  the 
countenances  of  the  ladies  too  !  And  so  on  in  this  way, 
till  he  could  the  better  collect  himself,  and  the  better  be 
prepared  for  a  conversation  of  a  higher  character. 

"  Ah  !  "  exclaimed  he,  rattling  on  gayly  and  unconcern 
edly,  "have  you  been  to  the  Opera  yet,  Miss  Braggins  ?  " 

She  told  him  that  she  had  not,  though  she  certainly  de 
signed  to  go  soon. 

"  Yes ;  very  fine  performance  last  evening  —  very  fine." 
A  glance  at  Amy,  and  a  glance  back  again  quicker  than 
the  first.  "  You  must  go,  Miss  Ellen,  I  assure  you.  Really, 
you  don't  know  what  you  lose.  Have  you  attended  yet, 
Miss  Lee  ?  " 

Nothing  could  surpass  the  cool  effrontery  of  his  manner, 
as  he  put  this  interrogatory. 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Amy,  with  quite  as  much  distinctness 
as  the  occasion  required ;  "  I  never  attend  the  Opera." 

For  a  moment  he  was  staggered ;  but  he  got  over  it 
again  as  soon. 

"  If  I  had  thought  of  it  last  evening,"  said  he,  turning 
to  Ellen,  "I  should  surely  have  called  for  you.  I  am 
sorry.  How  is  your  father  this  morning  ?  He  keeps  his 
usual  stock  of  robust  health  on  hand,  I  conclude.  Is  he 
at  his  counting  room  as  much  as  he  used  to  be  —  say  a 
great  many  years  ago,  when  —  ha,  ha !  —  when  you  and  I, 
Miss  Ellen,  were  a  good  deal  younger  than  we  are  now  — 
ha,  ha ! " 


360  AMY   LEE. 

BUen  could  not  reply  to  all  his  questions  at  once ;  so  she 
satisfied  herself  with  answering  his  last  one.  She  told 
her  visitor  that  her  father,  she  believed,  confined  himself 
to  his  business  as  closely  as  he  ever  did. 

"  Just  his  way !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Clendenning,  throwing 
up  his  head.  "  Always  his  way  !  I  declare  I  wonder 
when  he  will  think  there's  no  more  work  for  him  to  do." 

Ellen  answered  that  he  would  never  be  likely  to  wish 
for  the  time  to  come  when  he  would  have  nothing  to  do  ; 
for  industry  was  all  that  kept  him  happy. 

"  Indeed,"  said  the  visitor,  affecting  a  careless,  if  not  a 
somewhat  patronizing  air,  "  industry  is  a  very  good  thing 
—  I  may  truly  say,  a  most  excellent  thing ;  that  is,  pro 
vided  one  doesn't  let  the  thing  push  him  into  mere  drudg 
ery.  I  don't  think  any  one  can  do  much  without  it ;  that 
is,  long  at  a  time;  but  too  much  of  a  good  thing  —  you 
know  the  old  adage,  Miss  Ellen  —  ha,  ha,  ha  !  " 

It  was  hardly  possible  to  imagine  any  thing  more  hol 
low,  artificial,  and  conceited  than  this  laugh.  With  all 
the  charity  that  Amy  possessed,  it  was  difficult  for  her  to 
banish  the  supreme  disgust  that  she  so  thoroughly  felt. 

"  By  the  by,"  he  added,  with  full  as  much  complacency 
as  ever,  "  what  ever  became  of  that  young  clerk  of.  your 
father's  who  took  it  into  his  foolish  head  one  day  to  forge 
his  name  ?  Let  me  see :  he  went  first  to  State  Prison  — 
didn't  he  ?  " 

It  seemed  as  if  Ellen's  heart  for  a  moment  had  ceased 
to  beat.  She  felt  a  rising  and  a  choking  sensation  in  her 


ONCE   AGAIN.  361 

throat,  and  knew  not  but  she  must  fall  forward  upon  the 
floor.  But  she  controlled  herself.  Amy's  face  now  was 
deathly  pale,  for  her  sympathy  in  this  trying  moment  for, 
her  friend  was  very  quick  and  very  strong. 

"  Yes,  he  did,"  Ellen  made  out  to  answer,  with  a  great 
effort. 

"  Strange  sort  of  an  operation  that  was !  "  said  he,  half 
sneeringly.  "  Why,  I  should  have  thought  the  fellow  was 
a  fool.  Do  you  know  where  he  is  now  ?  " 

"  He  is  in  town,  I  believe." 

She  was  hardly  able  to .  answer  it,  but  she  did.  Amy 
saw  the  fearfulness  of  her  trial,  and  determined  herself  to 
put  a  hasty  termination  to  it. 

"  Ellen,"  said  she,  in  a  low  and  musical  voice,  that  even 
drew  the  eyes  of  Mr.  Clendenning  full  upon  her,  "  where 
is  little  Mary  this  morning  ?  I  haven't  seen  her." 

"  O,  yes,"  answered  Ellen,  rising  from  her  seat  and  step 
ping  to  the  door.  "  I  will  call  her.  She  is  in  the  house." 

And  she  went  out  of  the  room,  leaving  Amy  and  Mr. 
Clendening  there  alone. 

Amy  instantly  reached  for  a  book  that  lay  near  at  hand, 
and  the  gentleman,  without  once  deigning  to  extend  her 
any  further  notice,  rose  and  began  a  stroll  around  the 
room,  looking  musingly  at  the  pictures  on  the  walls,  and 
idly  humming  a  bit  of  an  air  from  the  last  opera  that  had 
enchanted  him.  Though  he  immediately  threw  aside  the 
very  pretences  of  a  gentleman  by  offering  such  a  marked 
slight  to  Amy,  yet  she  was  in  her  heart  very  thankful  that 
31 


362  AMY   LEE. 

he  did  not  attempt  any  further  advances.  And  here  and 
there  he  wandered  about,  humming  in  that  familiar  and 
thoroughly  contemptuous  manner,  till  Ellen  and  Mary 
made  their  appearance. 

"  Ah,  here's  my  little  Miss  Mary !  "  he  exclaimed,  as 
she  entered,  taking  Amy's  first  salutation  from  her  lips. 
"  How  does  she  do  this  pleasant  morning  ?  " 

Mary  went  and  received  the  proffered  hand,  smiled 
pleasantly  enough  to  drive  away  all  evil  feeling  from  any 
one's  heart,  and  immediately  hastened  to  the  side  of  her 
friend  and  instructor. 

Amy  sat  and  interested  her  with  her  questions  and  re 
marks,  leaving  Ellen  and  Mr.  Clendenning  to  have  their 
conversation  all  to  themselves.  The  latter  did  not  fail  to 
improve  the  opportunity  to  the  utmost.  He  even  tried  to 
make  amends  for  his  earlier  embarrassment,  and  engaged 
the  attention  of  Ellen  very  deeply  by  his  earnest  and  in 
teresting  narratives.  She  almost  forgot  the  peculiarity  of 
his  manner  when  he  had  first  entered,  and  listened  with 
as  much  intentness  apparently  as  she  would  have  done  at 
any  other  time. 

Thus  the  moments  slipped  away.  Mr.  Clendenning 
was,  in  truth,  waiting  for  Amy  to  take  her  departure. 
There  was  nothing  that  he  was  more  anxious  for.  He 
was  afraid  of  leaving  her  behind,  to  have  the  opportunity 
of  saying  the  last  word.  The  mean-souled  are  just  those 
who  are  troubled  about  such  matters,  and  usually  the 
only  ones. 


ONCE   AGAIN.  363 

But  Amy  had  no  thought  of  going ;  certainly  not  till 
after  he  had.  And  thus  the  case  at  length  stood. 

But  he  was  finally  obliged  to  yield ;  and  as  he  offered 
Ellen  his  hand  again  at  parting,  he  threw  a  glance  at  Amy, 
that  expressed  all  the  rage,  scorn,  contempt,  and  threats 
which  he  was  forced  to  keep  pent  up  in  his  bosom.  Yet 
he  could  not  refuse  to  bid  Amy  good  morning  likewise, 
for  by  betraying  his  anger  he  knew  he  would  be  very  sure 
to  forfeit  the  esteem  in  which  he  was  held  by  Ellen. 

The  moment  he  was  gone,  she  dismissed  little  Mary 
from  the  room,  and  at  once  began  to  interrogate  Amy  con 
cerning  the  strange  conduct  of  her  visitor. 

"  Now,  I  have  perfect  confidence  in  you,"  said  she,  "and 
I  want  you  to  be  frank  with  me.  Let  me  ask  you  a  few 
questions.  You  have  seen  Mr.  Clendenning  before  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  When  was  it,  pray  ?  " 

"  At  the  time  when  I  lived  in  the  country ;  only  last 
winter,  while  I  was  teaching  school  out  there,"  promptly 
answered  Amy. 

"But  something  unpleasant  has  passed  between  you 
before.  What  was  it  ?  I  wish  you  would  tell  me." 

"  I  will  —  I  will  be  as  frank  with  you  as  you  have 
desired.  I  had  a  very  dear  friend  there,  whom  it  was 
expected  he  was  to  marry ;  and  while  I  knew  this  very 
well,  and  he  must  have  known  I  knew  it,  too,  he  came  over 
to  my  school  room  one  afternoon,  while  I  was  alone,  and 
offered  to  make  me  his  wife." 


364  AMY   LEE. 

"  And  engaged  already ! " 

"  Yes,  I  had  the  best  reason  to  believe  that." 

Ellen's  face  flushed  instantly,  and  her  eyes  sought  the 
floor.  One  would  have  known  she  was  troubled,  by  seeing 
how  busily  her  foot  kept  drumming. 

"  The  hardest  of  it  was,"  continued  Amy,  "  that  though 
I  of  course  spurned  his  unmanly  offer,  I  lost  by  the  means 
my  best  friend.  For  he  left  the  place  the  very  next  day, 
and  nothing  was  heard  from  him  afterwards.  I  was  sup 
posed  to  be  the  mischief-maker,  and  by  the  force  of  the 
prejudice  that  soon  began  to  spread  among  the  people,  I 
was  compelled  to  surrender  my  school  and  leave  the  vil 
lage.  From  there  I  came  here,  and  this  morning  I  have 
seen  him  for  the  first  time  since." 

"  And  that  accounts  for  your  reserve  towards  him,  then? 
I  think  it's  all  plain  enough  now." 

"  I  bear  him  no  anger  nor  ill  will,"  said  Amy ;  "  but  I 
cannot  consent  to  countenance  his  conduct  by  any  fictitious 
appearance  of  further  friendship.  Certainly  he  shall  not 
deceive  you,  through  any  instrumentality  of  mine." 
"  It  was  enough.  The  explanation  sufficed  to  open  the 
eyes  of  Ellen,  and  to  place  her  on  her  guard  for  the  future. 

When  the  two  girls  separated  that  morning,  tears  were 
swimming  in  the  eyes  of  both.  Amy's  goodness  and  gen 
tleness  was  doing  its  perfect  work.  But  with  the  heart 
of  Ellen,  her  story  of  the  sufferings  of  that  friendless 
young  man  —  friendless  utterly  but  for  the  quick  and 
noble  sympathy  of  Amy  —  was  working  with  a  wider  and 


ONCE   AGAIN.  365 

a  deeper  effect  than  aught  else.  She  felt  the  reproach  of 
her  own  feelings,  till  it  became  an  ever-present  torture  to 
her.  It  was  a  bitter  thing  to  think  of,  too,  that  Amy 
alone,  and  a  stranger  besides,  should  have  been  the  one  to 
arrest  him  in  his  unhappy  course,  and  to  lead  him  gently 
away  to  the  path  of  patience  and  peace. 
31* 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 
RECONCILIATION  AND  PEACE. 

IT  was  indeed  the  work  of  a  true  and  noble  heart  that 
finally  brought  about  a  better  understanding  between  Mr. 
Braggins's  family  and  the  unfortunate  clerk ;  but  Amy's 
was  the  heart  through  whose  patience,  and  gentleness,  and 
love  it  was  all  effected. 

She  might  even  have  been  surprised  herself  to  discover 
how  fast  the  proud  and  heartless  prejudices  were  melting 
away,  and  how  the  sunlight  of  higher  views  and  a  more 
charitable  feeling  was  stealing  in  and  driving  out  the 
darkness  of  the  passions ;  but  the  surprise  was  so  inti 
mately  related  to  joy  itself,  that  it  added  a  new  strength 
to  the  labors  of  her  day,  and  welcome  and  happy  dreams 
to  the  slumbers  of  her  night. 

Mr.  Wilde  —  such  was  the  young  man's  name  —  she  now 
eaw  daily,  and  from  him  learned  with  much  delight  the 
progress  of  the  reconciliation.  Looking  into  his  face,  or 
listening  to  the  tone  of  his  conversation  now,  she  could 
not  but  remark  the  changed  air  of  satisfaction  that  was  the 
characteristic  of  both. 

Of  course  Mr.  Clerdenning's  further  friendship  was  dis- 

(366) 


EECOXCILIATION    AND    PEACE.  3G7 

carded  by  Ellen,  and  that,  too,  without  a  great  deal  of 
ceremony.  He  felt  that  his  own  mean  acts  were  very 
rapidly  finding  him  out.  Go  where  he  would,  it  soon 
seemed  to  him  as  if  his  heartless  character  had  preceded 
him.  Like  a  shadow,  it  was  always  cast  before  him  ;  till 
presently  Ellen  ceased  to  hear  any  thing  further  about 
him;  and  it  was  generally  supposed  that  he  must  have 
betaken  himself  to  a  locality  where  he  was  not  as  well 
known.  Unquestionably  his  pride  had  suffered  the  most, 
for  that  was  the  point  at  which  he  was  the  most  vulner 
able.  As  soon  as  that  was  destroyed,  there  would  be  bet 
ter  hopes  of  his  reformation. 

Mr.  Braggins  at  first  was  most  wilfully  opposed  to  lis 
tening  to  any  thing  like  a  proposal  to  receive  his  former 
clerk  into  favor  again.  It  seemed  as  if  he  could  not  be 
made  to  move  from  his  position.  He  was  a  man  of  ex 
ceedingly  strong  prejudices,  which  he  even  reckoned  to  be 
at  times  the  only  safeguard  that  could  be  set  about  his 
chilling  morality.  He  was  correct  enough,  and  exemplary 
enough ;  nobody  would  think  of  denying  that ;  but  he 
was  wanting  in  warm  and  glowing  charity  :  he  lacked  the 
heat  of  a  love  that  is  needed  at  all  times  to  make  us  loved 
again. 

Only  through  his  idolized  daughter  Ellen,  therefore, 
could  Amy  ever  hope  to  make  her  influence  reach  his 
heart.  And  she  kept  at  her  work  of  gentleness  patiently 
and  continually,  happy  in  the  deep  faith  that  she  freely 


868  AMY   LEE. 

entertained  for  the  ultimate  perfection  of  blind,  weak,  and 
uncharitable  humanity. 

Little  by  little  be  began  to  relent.  The  crime  of  his 
clerk  refused  forever  to  stand  out  before  him  in  such  co 
lossal  proportions.  He  could  not  but  think  that  if  men 
were  so  apt  to  nurse  prejudices,  and  so  given  to  cramp 
their  souls  with  the  iron  memories  of  long-gone  wrongs, 
there  would  be  little  need  to  hope  for  charity  and  forgive 
ness  at  the  hands  of  the  common,  Father ;  for  until  we 
release  others  from  the  thraldom  of  our  evil  thoughts,  we 
cannot  expect  to  be  free  from  a  far  worse  thraldom  our 
selves. 

Ellen  prevailed  on  him  to  admit  the  delinquent  into  his 
library  one  evening,  and  the  directions  were  properly 
given.  Through  Amy,  of  course,  they  were  carried  to 
him.  There  was  no  other  means  of  communication  then 
than  herself.  Very  soon  afterwards  he  was  the  glad  re 
cipient  of  them.  He  hurried  to  his  employer's  room,  and 
threw  himself  at  once  upon  his  knees  before  him. 

"  I  have  need  of  your  forgiveness,"  said  he,  "  for  I  am 
wretched  and  unhappy.  I  have  wronged  you  deeply, 
though  the  wrong  I  did  my  own  soul  was  greater.  Over 
look  my  fault.  It  has  brought  me  a  bitter,  bitter  lesson, 
that  I  shall  never  forget.  I  ask  for  nothing  more.  Of 
course  you  cannot  receive  me  into  your  business  again ; 
and  I  do  not  expect  it ;  I  must  earn  my  bread  elsewhere. 
I  may  be  considered  henceforward  an  outcast ;  yet  I  will,  try 


RECONCILIATION   AND   PEACE.  369 

and  carry  the  soul  of  a  man.  Your  forgiveness,  sir,  is  all 
I  ask." 

The  manner  of  the  young  man  entirely  disarmed-  the 
rigid  heart  of  the  wealthy  merchant  of  its  weapons  of 
prejudice,  and  exposed  him  to  the  most  gentle  influences. 
Immediately  he  begged  him  to  rise  from  his  position  of 
entreaty,  and  to  accept  not  only  the  assurances  of  his  for 
giveness,  but  of  his  personal  favor  also.  In  addition  to 
this,  —  now  that  generous  feelings  had  found  an  outlet,  it 
was  difficult  to  stop  their  outgushing,  —  he  freely  offered 
to  receive  him  back  into  his  counting  room  again,  and 
even  pressed  him  to  accept  the  proposal,  when  he  found 
that  the  young  man  hesitated.  And  well  might  he  hesi 
tate  ;  for  he  was  wholly  overcome  with  surprise. 

But  the  noble  work  was  done.  A  prejudiced  nature 
had  had  its  hard  flintiness  broken,  and  a  humble,  re- 
'pentant,  half-broken  spirit  was  raised  again  to  its  own 
level  of  native  dignity.  What  a  change  !  What  a  blessed 
deed  to  be  performed  by  one  poor,  friendless,  but  brave 
and  generous  heart  —  the  heart  of  a  true  and  trustful 
girl! 

Verily  might  the  proud  world,  and  the  selfish  world, 
and  the  scornful  and  false  world,  take  a  lesson  from  a 
deed  like  this.  Verily  might  it  be  taught  that  the  en 
deavor  of  one  honest,  sincere,  truthful,  and  glowing  heart 
is  mightier  by  far  than  the  vaunted  power  of  armies  and 
navies.  Of  a  truth  do  such  great  and  good  souls  have 
their  reward ;  and  this  is  the  reward  —  that  deeds  of 


370  AMY   LEE. 

virtue  and  nobleness  never,  never  fail  to  enrich  a  thousand 
fold  the  souls  of  which  they  "are  conceived. 

Matters  having  been  thus  amicably  adjusted,  Amy  cast 
about  her  to  see  if  there  might  not  be  some  way  by  which 
she  could  enlarge  her  income,  and  so  put  it  within  her 
power  to  do  more  good.  Opportunities  offered  themselves 
on  every  hand,  and  she  felt  that  there  was  no  need  to 
make  any  great  exertion  to  hunt  them  out.  They  came  to 
Jier  faster  than  she  could  find  the  means  to  provide  for 
them.  But  she  studied  the  science  of  economical  man 
agement  with- much  assiduity,  and  so  accomplished  vastly 
more  than  she  had  at  first  dared  to  propose.  Actual  won 
ders,  in  the  way  of  philanthropy,  seemed  to  unfold  them 
selves  beneath  her  skill. 

Still  she  kept  thinking  the  matter  over  more  indus 
triously.  She  sought  to  make  others  happy.  That  was 
her  own  greatest  happiness. 

At  length  she  hit  upon  the  thing  exactly.  It  was  a 
project  that  commended  itself,  too,  entirely  to  her  heart ; 
and  that  was  its  foremost  recommendation  for  her,  too. 
She  bethought  herself  of  trying  the  field  of  authorship  ; 
not  that  wider  field,  over  which  the  more  brilliant  intel 
lects  glitter  like  the  stars  in  the  sky,  but  the  more  modest 
and  unnoticed  corner  usually  devoted  to  the  amusement 
and  instruction  of  the  juveniles ;  yet  not  any  less  dig 
nified,  and  not  any  less  noble,  than  the  other.  Amy  es 
teemed  it  even  a  Iwlier  calling.  And  so  indeed  it  is. 

Therefore  she  sat  down  at  once,  and  acted  singly  and 


RECONCILIATION   AND   PEACE.  371 

resolutely  upon  her  thought.  Her  heart  was  equally  brave 
and  self-reliant  at  all  occupations,  and  in  the  face  of  all 
obstacles.  She  labored  with  all  her  might,  putting  her 
soul  intt  her  work.  The  first  manuscript  was  finished. 
She  carried  it  to  a  publisher  —  timidly,  it  is  true,  yet 
hoping  against  all  sorts  of  discouraging  fears.  A  pub-, 
lisher  she  had  conceived  to  be  an  awful  being,  clothed  with 
attributes  such  as  belonged  to  the  possession  of  no  other 
living  potentate.  But  how  great  was  her  disappointment, 
and  how  very  agreeable  it  was,  likewise,  when  she  saw  him 
blandly  bow  her  into  his  apartment,  and  as  blandly  promise 
to  read  her  manuscript  at  the  earliest  possible  day  ! 

Of  course  it  was  accepted.  Such  an  effort  must  be  good, 
because  it  came  from  a  single,  sincere,  and  great  heart. 
That  stamp  would  insure  it  favor  every  where ;  and  bear 
ing,  too,  the  stamp  of  the  heart  of  a  true  woman. 

That  manuscript  is  in  press.  It  has  not  yet  seen  the 
light.  And  Amy  is  waiting  to  know  if  she  may  rely 
on  such  a  source  for  the  further  spread  of  her  kind  char 
ities;  content,  however,  to  abide  whatever  may  be  the 
event. 

Not  long  after  the  consummation  of  this  new  re 
lation  between  Mr.  Braggins  and  his  clerk,  Amy  was 
put  in  receipt  of  a  long  letter  from  her  friend  Mrs. 
Gummel,  of  Valley  Village,  who  dwelt  sadly  still  on 
the  loss  of  her  society  ;  and  likewise  of  one  from  both 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Parsons  —  the  good  minister  and  his  wife. 
These  were  very  dear  tokens  to  her  of  former  friend- 


372  AMY   LEE. 


ships,  tl  it  still  glowed  and  flamed  upon  the  altar  of  her 
heart.  They  carried  her  thoughts  back  to  the  other 
places  and  other  persons,  and  rejoiced  her  with  the  fresh 
recollection  of  objects  on  which  her  nature  might  feed 
to  the  last  limit  of  her  days. 


CHAPTER   XXXIV. 
AND   THE  LAST. 

TlL  78  was  Amy  at  this  time  situated.  Her  heart  was 
full  of  faith,  her  life  was  full  of  love.  She  was  now  fairly 
entering  upon  life.  All  its  prospects  and  promises  — 
thousand-hued  ever  to  the  dreaming  eyes  of  youth  - — were 
rapidly  opening  to  her.  She  had  known  sorrow  and  she 
had  tasted  joy.  To  a  nature  as  deep  as  hers,  neither 
would  be  likely  to  bring  a  very  superficial  experience. 

We  leave  her  where  we  love  to  leave  one  whom  our 
eyes  have  watched  fondly  and  gratefully  —  exactly  in  the 
midst  of  her  labors,  surrounded  with  all  her  multiplied 
and  multiplying  duties,  drinking  deep  draughts  of  satis 
faction  from  her  good  works,  and  perpetually  enriching 
her  soul  with  the  secret  and  countless  graces  that  flow  out 
from  humility,  and  faith,  and  obedience,  and  love.  All 
these  things  made  her  strong.  Hers  was  not  a  coward's 
heart.  She  knew  nothing  like  fear.  Her  cheek  never 
turned  pale  at  the  sudden  thought  of  consequences  that 
till  that  moment  were  unknown.  She  was  not  driven  out 
of  her  even  course  by  surprises  of  any  kind.  With  her 
all  was  perfect  peace,  and  serenity,  and  happiness. 
32  (373) 


374  AMY    LEE. 

Ah,  how  few  know  what  a  great  work  one  single  soul 
like  this  can  perform  in  the  world !  How  few  understand 
the  thousand  and  ten  thousand  influences  that  radiate  like 
the  golden  sunlight  from  a  pure  heart  like  hers,  flooding 
many  and  many  a  dark  corner  with  its  cheerfulness,  arousing 
other  hearts  all  around  by  its  own  grand  example,-awaken- 
ing  faith  where  only  doubt,  and  distrust,  and  perhaps  de 
spair  were  before,  and  working  out  to  the  very  last  hour 
of  existence  that  perfect  work  which  brings  a  deep  peace 
passing  all  understanding !  Blessed  are  these  few  brave 
and  true  souls,  whether  men  or  women,  for  theirs  is  a 
heavenly  kingdom  already.  Blessed  are  their  rich  and 
exalted  natures,  for  they  breathe  an  atmosphere  where  the 
fogs  of  selfishness,  and  fear,  and  envy,  and  passion  cannot 
come. 

She  did  not  sit  down  and  grudgingly  begin  to  calculate 
when  she  should  get  through  her  work,  and  when  she 
might  begin  to  enjoy  the  fruits.  She  wrought  and  en 
joyed  both  together.  She  did  not  strain  her  gaze  sadly 
into  a  dead  and  silent  past,  nor  try  to  look  doubtingly 
into  the  shadows  of  a  future  that  no  human  eye  may 
pierce  ;  but  she  lived  only  in  the  present,  that  single 
bright  thread  of  living  light,  which  is  eternally  shooting 
across  the  deep  gulf  of  the  past,  and  eternally  throwing  its 
one  golden  ray  over  the  broad  heaven  of  our  consciousness. 
She  did  not  live  for  a  show,  but  for  the  grand  reality. 
Life  with  her  was  no  mere  spectacle  ;  it  was  a  plain  and 
divine  fact.  To  her  the  soul  was  greater  than  all  else. 


AND   THE   LAST.  375 

And  believing  only  in  this  sublime  truth,  and  throwing 
herself  obediently  and  joyfully  into  the  protecting  arms 
of  the  good  Father,  who  will  not  forget  for  a  moment 
even  the  least  of  his  children,  she  wrought  and  lived, 
wrought  and  lived,  making  each  day  a  new  existence,  and 
blessing  God  devoutly  that  such  a  glorious  existence  was 
never  to  have  an  end. 

O]  the  nobleness  of  such  a  life  as  this  !  How  it  brushes 
away  with  a  single  sweep  all  the  cobwebs  of  falsity  and 
untruth,  of  surface  and  unreality,  frpm  before  the  soul's 
vision,  and  brings  it  clearer  and  truer  views  of  the  ex 
ceedingly  excellent  glory  into  which  every  human  soul 
may  yet  be  ushered  ! 

Ere  long  she  received  another  letter  from  Valley  Vil 
lage.  She  broke  the  seal  and  found  it  was  from  Olive 
Adams.  It  could  not  but  surprise  her  a  little,  for  since 
she  had  left  the  village  she  had  not  directly  heard  a  word 
from  her  friend. 

The  letter  communicated  the  intelligence  of  the  sud 
den  death  of  Olive's  aunt,  and  besought  Amy  to  come 
out  to  Ivy  Lodge  at  the  earliest  day  possible.  Olive 
wanted  her  to  give  up  her  music  teaching,  at  least  for  a 
time,  and  renew  the  sweet  old  friendship  again.  She 
promised  her  a  pleasant  home,  and  all  the  comforts  that 
her  abundant  means  would  furnish.  Descanting  but 
lightly  upon  the  unhappy  causes  of  their  separation,  she 
nevertheless  by  her  manner  of  writing  assured  Amy  of  her 
continued  affection,  and  her  anxiety  for  a  speedy  reunion. 


376  AMY   LEE, 

And  with  this  unexpected  letter  in  her  hand,  sitting 
thoughtfully  at  her  window  in  the  quiet  boarding  house 
of  Mrs.  Dozy,  the  past  and  the  present  mingling  the  mul 
titude  of  their  associations  and  their  memories  all  around 
her,  we  will  leave  her  alone.  Only  let  us  pray  that  our 
faith  and  our  obedience  may  through  life  be  as  single  and 
sincere  as  hers. 


September,  1855. 

BOOKS 


PUBLISHED    BY 


Brown,  Bazin  and  Company, 

94   WASHINGTON   STREET, 


ELEGANT   SERIES   OF   JUVENILES  ! 

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TOWER'S    ARITHMETIC. 

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IN 

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